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A.isriD 

XiO'V^E  IDITTIIEJS 


BY 


WILLIAM  ROLAND  HOGOBOOM. 


EAST  RUTHERFORD,  N.  J.  : 
The  Petrie  Press. 

PUBLISHERS, 


1901. 


COPYRIQHT  SECURED,  1901. 


/ / ■ 


' / 
^ II 


matter  of  apology  for  the  shortcomingK 
volume,  the  author  humbly  begs  the  gen- 
arous  indulgence  of  its  c^ccasional  reader  and  a 
Mind  consideration  for  the  facts  of  his  humble 
Birth,,  hard  life,  meager  education  and  the  absence 
af  that  culture  which  sustains  and  nourishes  the 
feer  poetic  feelings  ; against  all  of  which  he  has 
Been  forced  to  struggle  alone,  with  all  the  discour- 
aging embarrassments  commonly  apparent.  Also 
tire  fact  of  his  youth,  having  only  attained  his 
^^ntiefh  year,  which  he  hopes  may  bear  at  least 
mproi^etic  import  of  something  greater. 


^ ^ ''6km 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2017  with  funding  from 

University  of  Illinois  Urbana-Champaign  Alternates 


https://archive.org/details/poemslovedittiesOOhogo 


COKTEKTS. 


\ 1 1 


PAGE. 

Remembrance 1 

How  Sweet  Ye  Bloom 2 

My  Sweetheart  and  My  Jennie.  0 2 

My  Heart  is  Sad 3 

Thou  Waning  Orb  3 

Deceptive  Beauty 4 

Roguish  Nell 5 

November  Shivers  O’er  the  Meads 6 

O,  Sweet  the  Day 7 

Jean 8 

A Broken  Love 9 

Ye  Flowery  Dales 11 

Sin’ s Requiem 12 

Thou  Gentle  Fairy 13 

Now  the  Slender  Moon 14 

O,  That  My  Love 15 

Thou  Happy  Land  16 

The  Morning  Breaks 17 

O,  Jennie,  How  I Love  Thee 18 

Beside  the  Grave  of  Mnry 18 

Mother 19 

Ruin 21 

Oft  I Swore 21 

Extempore— Melancholy 22 

Cease,  Cease,  Thy  Song 22 

O,  were  My  Love 23 

The  Lad  O’er  the  Moor 23 

I’ll  Fondly  Shelter  Thee  24 

Now  Death  is  Sweet 25 

Dryden’s  Lament 26 

Sweet  Ina 27 

Y"e  Gracious  Powers.  2;. 

The  Vagrant’ s Return 29 

Tis  Not  Thy  Eye 29 

Away  O’er  the  Sea 30 

Pride  of  the  Villiage 31 

Shepherd  and  Shepherdess  (He) 32 

-(She) 33 


CONTENTS. 


Now  Chill’s  the  Night 33 

Autumn 34 

Oh  ! Tell  Me  Where 35 

In  Gilded  Coach 36 

O,  Thou  That  Reigns 36 

Oharming  Florence 37 

Now  the  Harvest  Waves  Yellow 38 

My  Lady  Love  38 

My  Sailor  Love 39 

To  a Star 4o 

Drear  December 41 

■Glenallen’s  Grove 41 

"Sweet  Jessie 42 

Now  Heavy  Care 43 

Tune 44 

Patience 47 

Now  Bleak’s  the  Day 48 

Oh  ! the  Land  is  Poor 48 

Some  Gentlemen  There  Are 49 

Siight  of  the  World 50 

The  World’s  a Jest..., 51 

Bonny  Peggy  Allen 52 

Poverty  Drear 54 

Tlllen  Gray 55 

Under  the  Lilac ..  56 

Summer 57 

Nature  Sketch 58 

Slavery 62 

Ton  Dreary  Moor 64 

Sunrise 65 

Age— Sketch 65 

Asparation ...  66 

To  a Harvest  Mouse 67 

Fortune’s  Blast 68 

O,  Memory  Drear G9 

Torsakeii 70 

Te  Little  Flow’rs 71 

The  Sailor’ s home 71 

Storm  on  Galilee 72 

Xines  on  Birth  of  Niece 78 

iHow  Sv;<iet  Ye  Bloom 79 

'To  A Sle.^ping  Drunkard 80 

.December 82 

My  Sailor  Lad 82 


CONTENTS. 


ym 


Libre  Cuba 8^ 

Washiiigtou 87 

America 88- 

Laus  Deo 90 

Thou  Little  Bird 91 

Fair  Molly  Tweed 

Written  in  a Time  of  Discontent  and  Wandering 98 

Thou  Bobolink 94 

Now  Wildly  Raves 94. 

Alice 95 

O,  Sad,  the  Day 97 

To  a Bird  Twittering  Pitiyfully  at  Midnight 98 

Lines  on  Sister,  when  at  the  Brink  of  Death 90 

On  Same  when  Still  Worse 99 

On  Hearing  of  the  Unnecessary  Slaughter  in  the 

Transvaal ..  99 

Bring  Back  My  Darling  to  Me lOO 

The  Old  Bard’s  Lament 101. 

To  a Whippo- Wil lOS 

To  An  Old  Tree  Uprooted  by  a Storm 104 

Extempore 108 

Faith 107 

Hypocrisy 107 

Old  Winter  Now 107 

Gently  Now  the  Closing  Day ICO 

Memory 118 

Love’ s Reward Ill 

Now  the  Wee  Birdies  Play 1 l‘A. 

Far  Over  the  North 112: 

Last  Evening 113. 

Spring 114 

A Father’s  Protest 115. 

Thou  Little  Bird  on  Yonder  Tree 118. 

Queen  of  the  Lilies 117 

A Night  in  J une 118 

Just  Over  the  West 119' 

Love’s  Lament 120- 

The  Angry  Gale 120'. 

Lines  on  an  Old  Deseited  Sch«)ol  House 122 

Dear  Little  Lamp 128' 

Do  You  Ask  Me 129^ 

O,  Cruel  Sea 130 

Love’ s Sacrifice 130 

The  Christ- Heart 134 


Vlll 


CONTENTS, 


On  Yonder  Hill 133 

Thou  Little  Brook 134 

Discontent 135 

The  Month  is  May 135 

Love’ s Despair 136 

Ye  Soulless  Gods 137 

Ha’  e Ye  My  Sweet  Nannie  Seen 138 

Ye  Little  Stars 139 

Sing  on  Thou’s  Heard 141 

Elegy 142 


POEMS. 


I 


REMEMBRANCE. 

I. 

Abo  lit  the  Eeart,  low  fondly  plays, 

The  memory  of  departed  days, 

And  scenes  we  fondly  clierisli ! 

They  cling,  like  vines,  around  the  heart  j 
But,  O,  too  soon,  those  dre.'ims  depart. 
They  fade  and  fall  and  perish. 


II. 


O,  fond  remembrance,  wet  with  tears. 
Nor  lessens,  with  the  waste  of  years. 
Can  ye  not  cease  to  languish  ? 

One  moment,  cease  tliis  inward  strain; 
This  mental  passion  and  the  pain. 

This  flood  of  grief  and  anguish. 


3 


POEMS. 


HOW  SWEET  YE  BLOOM. 

I. 

How  sweet  ye  bloom,  ye  little  flowers, 

That  deck  the  woods  and  meadows  round  I 
How  sweet  ye  chant,  ye  little  birds! 

Wliile  I,  to  aching  care,  am  bound. 

IT. 

Ye  little  birds,  ye  well  may  soar, 

And  gayly  sing,  on  bush  and  spraj^ ; 

For  my  false  lover  loves,  no  more; 

And,  O,  he’s  ta’en  my  heart  away. 


MY  SWEETHEART  AND  MY  JENNIE,  O. 

I. 

When  Phoebus  gilds  adown  the  west, 

And  draws  all  beauty  to  her,  O; 

And  like  a queen,  retires  to  rest. 

There  is  a joy  to  view  her,  O. 

II. 

And  yet,  as  fair  as  any  sky, 

As  fair  and  true  as  an 3%  O, 

And  dearer  to  tliis  heari,  will  lie, 

My  sweetheart  and  my  Jennie,  O. 

III. 

As  the  leaf,  from  the  topmost  branch,  comes 
down; 

As  the  bird  flits  o’er  her  nestlings; 

;So  gently  falls  her  smile  or  frown. 

And  rapture  to  my  breast,  brings. 


I 


POEMS. 


3 


MY  HEART  IS  SAD. 

I. 

Mv  heart  is  sad,  my  bosom  sore; 

And  love’s  the  cause  of  all  that; 

For  my  false  lover  loves,  no  more, 

And  what,  but  grief,  could  follow  that? 

II. 

O,  once,  he  swore  we  ne’er  should  part, 
Nor  grief,  our  bliss,  should  bother; 

Bat  now,  he’s  stollen  my  aching  heart, 

And  gone  to  love  another. 

III. 

I have  a ring,  he  gave  to  me. 

So  fondly  sworn  to  share  it ; 

I took  it,  for  his  own  sweet  sake, 

And,  for  his  sake,  will  wear  it. 


THOU  WANING  ORB. 

I. 

Thou  waning  orb,  whose  wandering  light. 
Around  this  world,  discovers 
The  varied  raptures,  the  delight 
And  scenes  of  happy  lovers ; 

II. 

O,  where,  in  all  those  regions  known. 
Where  ere  ye  roam  so  weary, 

O,  tell  me,  where  my  joy  has  flown ; 

And  where,  has  gone  my  dearie. 


4 


POEMS. 


III. 

Where  ere  she  plies  her  lonely  flight, 
This  heart  would  follow  ever; 

And  hieath  thy  soft  and  gentle  light, 

I can  forget  her,  never. 

IV. 

I never  see  thee  rising  fair; 

Nov  wander  where  the  roses  bide; 
But  tender  thoughts  and  happy  smiles 
Are  ever  beaming  at  my  side. 

V. 

O time,  O change,  with  heartless  range, 
Thy  cruel  touch  hath  severed 
The  happy  scenes  and  blissful  dreams 
That  more,  return  shall,  never. 


DECEPTIVE  BEAUTY* 

I. 

Deceptive  queen  of  beauty. 

Thy  raid  has  wrought  no  booty — 
From  my  heart; 

Un welcomed  at  its  door, 

Barred  faster  than  l)efore — 

Thou  shalt  depart ! 

II. 

How  changed  thy  fond  address, 
At  each  entreaty  pressed — 
Baffled  before; 

How  thy  undaunted  mien, 

With  only  false  between — 

Bore  up  the  more! 


POEMS. 


b 


III. 

Thou  art  a blushing  rose, 
Alluring,  that  but  clothes 
An  ugly  thorn ; 

Who  plucks  the  faithless  flower. 
Pierced,  rues  the  bleeding  liour — 
Untimely  born ! 

IV. 

Go  to  some  fonder  fool, 

And  fill  his  goblet  full — 

Of  rosy  wine ; 

And  when  his  spirits  roll, 

Happy,  some  noble  soul — 

May  not  repine ! 

V. 

One  drop  of  honest  blood, 

Is  worth  a foaming  flood, 

Of  polluted  gore — 

O,  Heaven,  with  light  devine, 
Kindle  this  soul  of  mine — 

Mid  dangers  sore. 


ROGUISH  NELL. 

I. 

Of  all  the  pains  this  flesh  sustains. 

In  battle  or  in  duel. 

There’s  none  so  keen  as  those,  I ween, 
When  a fellow’s  love  is  cruel. 


6 


POEMS. 


11, 

To  break  a faithful  lover*«  heart, 

And  laugh,  at  her  misdealings  ; 

Her  fondest  joy  is  to  aiioy 
And  hurt  a fellow’s  feeling.v. 

111. 

O,  her  jet  flowing  locks  and  her  dark  rolling 
eye, 

And  her  glances,  so  sweetly  bewitching  ! 
My  heart,  at  each  bound,  but  leaps  to  the 
wound, 

Her  glances,  so  cruel,  are  twiching. 

IV. 

Yet,  Roguish  Nell,  this  will  I tell : 

“Thou’lt  rue  thy  fatal  charming; 

. They’ll  find  ye  out,  as  I,  no  doubt, 

And  flee  your  false  disarming.” 


NOVEMBER  SHIVERS  O^ER  THE  MEADS. 

1. 

November  shivers  o’er  the  meads  ; 

The  wind  is  rude  and  wild ; 

And  bare’s  the  lonely  path  that  leads, 

Out  on  the  moor,  my  child. 

11. 

The  swallows  all  have  flown  awaj^ 

And  the  wee  flow’rs,  one  by  one  ; 

The  little  birds  that  cheered  the  day. 

To  their  summer  joys,  have  gone. 


I 


POEMS. 


7 


III. 

And  I arn  left,  alone  to  stray 
This  heather  wide  and  far; 

But  dear  to  me,  as  light  of  daj" — 

That  rugged  path  and  bare. 

IV. 

Tiiongh  rough,  I often  climb  the  steep,^ 
That  ledge  across  the  moor ; 

And  visit  scenes  so  true  and  deep, 

And  sweeter,  Vause  they’re  poor. 

V. 

A virtuous,  ha|)py  group,  aside, 

There  dwells,  with  peace  content; 

Where  never  vain  insulting  pride, 

Wreaks,  on  the  poor,  her  foul  intent,, 

But  only  loves  abide, 

VI. 

Within  their  peaceful  lowlj^  bower. 

From  city’s  ceaseless  strife. 

There  love  distills  her  genial  power, 

And  lulls  the  ills  of  life. 


O,  SWEET,  THE  DAY. 

I. 

O,  sweet,  the  day  so  bright  and  fair, 
Whereon  my  lady’s  love  was  given; 
Fond  nature  imaged  everywhere, 

The  bridal  day  of  earth  and  Heaven. 


s 


POEMS. 


IL 

And,  O,  that  Heaven  was  mine  to  gain. 
But,  O,  too  soon,  such  bliss  must  fall ; 
Death  brooding  o’er,  with  jealous  pain. 
He  stole  ray  life,  my  love,  rny  all. 


JEAN. 

T. 

Over  the  hills  and  far  away. 

This  vagrant  heart  will  ever  stray  ; 

Over  the  hills  and  down  the  glen, 

To  a little  cot,  where  I met  my  Jean, 

And  first,  I found  my  dearie. 

II. 

If  birds  are  gay,  if  flowers  are  fair. 

They  never  can,  with  her,  compare ; 

A plighted  hand,  a heart  to  love, 

A constancy  that  naught  can  move. 

And  a soul,  so  sweet  and  cheery. 

III. 

Give  knaves  their  vice,  and  fools  their  wine; 
They  ne’er  shall  draw  a drop  of  mine; 

For  in  one  short  month  and  May  will  shine, 
And  the  daisies,  o’er  the  meadowst  wine. 
And  she’s,  aye,  my  own  sweet  dearie. 


POEMS. 


9 


A BROKEN  LOVE* 

I. 

Sweet,  were  those  happy  hours, 
liightened  by  sunbeam  showers, 

That  shed  their  gentle  powers, 

To  cheer  the  day. 

II. 

Blithely,  the  swallows  played. 

Light  in  the  gloaming’s  shade, 

As  we  enchanted  strayed, 

Alone,  the  while. 

III. 

Mild,  were  her  eyes  of  blue. 

Gentle  as  morning  dew  ; 

No  wiles,  her  whisper  knew. 

Nor  snares,  her  smile. 

IV. 

Fair,  was  her  grace  and  slender; 
Strong,  was  her  heart  and  tender; 

O,  I thought  naught  could  rend  her. 
To  lose  her  way. 

V. 

Sweet,  as  a morn  in  June  ; 

Blithe,  as  the  woods  at  noon. 

All  filled  with  happ}"  tune. 

Of  songsters  gay. 

VI. 

All  then,  was  bliss  expressed ; 

Love  was  a vow  confessed ; 

Toil  was,  with  pleasure,  dressed, 
Though  reeked  in  pain. 


10 


POEMS. 


VII. 

Lightly,  the  hours  passed  ; 

Joy  held  all  parting  fast  ; 

Love  her  fond  mantle  cast, 

But  all  in  vain. 

VIII. 

Often  at  summer’s  eve, 
Transported,  I would  leave  ; 
But  I could  ne’er  deceive 
The  tryst,  I swore. 

IX. 

Blithe,  was  our  parting  then, 
Vowed  soon  to  meet  again  ; 
Light  o’er  the  feathery  fen, 

As  oft  before. 

X. 

Little,  thought  I,  ’twas  the  last 
Chill — chill,  the  bitter  blast, 
That  cruel  o’er  her  past, 

And  round  her  sore. 

XI. 

Some  wretch,  with  hellish  art. 
Has  stoll’n  her  guileless  heart; 
With  her  I ne’er  could  part, 
Whom  I forswore. 

XII. 

Lonely,  the  village  weeps  ; 
Bruised  now,  her  virtue  sleeps  ; 
Her,  this  fond  heart  still  keeps,. 
In  memory  dear. 


POEMS. 


11 


XIII. 

Weary,  alone  I stray  ; 

Dark,  falls  the  closing  day  ; 
Far,  sadly  far,  away, 

Mid  shadows  drear. 


YE  FLOWERY  DALES* 

I, 

Ye  flowery  dales  and  winding  hills, 
With  many  a careless  blossom,  O; 

’Tis  well,  ye  out-live  the  human  ills, 
That  wring  this  aching  bosom,  O. 

II. 

The  parting  tear,  the  long-drawn  sigh. 
The  sorrow  and  the  silent  grief; 

That  look  forlorn,  the  brooding  eye. 
Bespeak  of  woes  beyond  relief, 

III. 

And  all,  too  vainly,  do  I seek, 

A quiet  in  the  kindly  woods  ; 

The  world  would  shun,  or  inly  speak 
My  troubles,  to  the  solitudes, 
rv. 

Of  some  fond  grief,  I inly  pine; 

My  sorrow  knows  no  healing,  O ; 

Yon  distant  stars,  that  coldly  shine. 

Is  all,  I hope  of  feeling,  O. 

V. 

And  could  I now,  with  days  of  yore. 
Recall  a nameless  pleasure,  O ! 

But,  O,  she’s  gone,  forever  more, 

My  sweetheart  and  my  treasure,  O. 


12 


POEMS. 


VI. 

Ye  distant  scenes,  forever  gone, 
Like  jewels  in  the  memory  set; 
Ye  faded  joys,  for  aye  undone, 

Too  fond,  ye  wake  a sad  regret. 


SIN’S  REQUIEM* 

I. 

Some  hearts  there  are,  still  free  from  care. 
But  more  are  sad  and  weary; 

Yet  free’s  the  heart,  from  vice  apart; 

The  wicked  alone  are  dreary. 

II. 

For  the  pleasures  of  sin  lie  hard  within, 
And,  O,  my  young  friend,  beware  ; 

That  enticing  flame  is  the  light  of  shame. 
And  is  lurking  everywhere. 

III. 

O sin,  O woe,  where  may  we  go, 
ig}  Nor  hear  thy  constant  grieving  ? 

1’o  know  some  heart,  from  sin  apart, 

It  is  the  soul’s  relieving. 


Thoughts  are  true  things  and  accordingly  impoverish  or 
enrich  us. 


I 


POEMS.  13 


THOU  GENTLE  FAIRY. 

I. 

Thoii  gentle  fairy  of  my  heart, 

Sweet  woodland  nymph,  of  nature’s  art, 

O,  may  I never,  from  thee  part. 

My  idol  and  my  dearie. 

II. 

The  courtly  grace  that  princes  share; 
d'he  queenly  charms  of  beauties  rare  ; 

Or  sculptured  art  cannot  compare 
With  thee,  when  the  heart  is  weary. 

III. 

Of  waking  morn,  the  rosy  light; 

Nor  jewelled  stars,  that  gild  the  night  ; 

Nor  living  gems  are  half  so  bright. 

As  the  beam  of  thy  eyes,  so  cheery, 
iv 

The  notes,  that  birds,  the  morning,  greet; 
The  songs,  that  crown  the  muses  seat. 

Nor  classic  verse  is  half  so  sweet, 

As  the  music  of  th}^  voice,  O. 

V. 

Of  fame’s  eternal  high  decree  ; 

Or  priceless  treasures,  preferred  free  ; 

Or  just  the  artless  love  of  thee, 

Ye’d  be  the  richer  choice,  O. 

VI. 

Without  thee,  what  were  life  beside? 

A dreary  wilderness  and  wide  ; 

A harvest  morn,  with  this  supplied, 

To  love  thee  and  rejoice,  O. 


14 


POEMS. 


NOW,  THE  SLENDER  MOON. 

1. 

Now,  the  slender  moon  dips  his  horn  in  the 
west, 

And  the  stars  are  sweetly  shining,  O ; 

As  I gaily  stray  with  the  lad  I love  best. 

For  ’tis  only  love  that’s  devining,  O. 

II. 

Tlie  little  bird,  in  the  lilac  tree, 

Beside  his  mate  in  the  nest,  O, 

Has  ceased  his  tuneful  notes  of  glee ; 

And  folded  his  wings  to  rest,  O. 

III. 

For  now  ’tis  sweet  summer  and  nature  is 
blessed  ; 

And  her  breath  rides  the  odorous  gale  ; 
While  I’m  roving  with  him,  the  lad  I love  best. 
And  love  is  the  happy  tale. 

IV. 

O’er  the  hedge,  comes  the  scent  of  the  sweet 
smelling  crest, 

Of  the  rose  and  the  sweet  flowering  vine; 
But  sweeter  to  me,  the  fond  thought  of  his 
breast, 

That  pledges,  for  aye,  to  be  mine. 

V. 

Though  the  morn,  sore  labor  and  care  may 
awake. 

With  brooding  clouds  of  fear,  O ; 

Our  blisses,  all  future  fears,  overtake, 

And  assassinate  them  here,  O. 


POEMS. 


15 


O,  THAT  MY  LOVE  ! 

I. 

O,  that  my  love  were  yon  robin  blest, 

That  sings  so  sweet  in  the  lilac  tree  ; 

And  I,  the  mate  beside  his  breast, 

To  spend  the  hours,  so  cheerily! 

II. 

My  songs  would  wake  the  rising  sun. 

And  lull  his  slumbers,  in  the  west ; 

My  lot  were  then  a Heavenly  one. 

To  sing  my  robin  to  liis  rest. 

III. 

No  thought  of  care  or  sickening  death 
Would  bid  my  warblings  ever  cease; 

I’d  tune,  for  him,  my  sweetest  breath, 

And  sing,  for  aye,  in  joyous  peace. 

IV. 

And  when  wild  winter’s  raging  wind 

Howls  round  our  nest,  with  angry  sighs^ 

We’d  leave  his  bitterness  behind. 

And  together,  soar  for  summer  skies. 


16 


POEMS. 


THOU  HAPPY  LANDJ 

L 

Thou  happy  land,  where  virtue  dwells. 
And  every  scene  is  beauty,  O ; 

Where  liill  on  hill,  the  landscape  swells, 
I greet  thee,  at  my  duty,  O, 

II. 

As  scene  on  scene,  with  joy  I view. 

That  skirts  my  little  mansion,  O ; 

Do  thou  inspire  some  ditty  through. 

To  mount  the  scales  of  scansion,  O, 

III. 

For  sure,  amid  such  lovely  scenes. 

Must  dwell,  the  muse  of  Heaven,  O; 

Where  peace  and  quiet  intervenes. 

And  happy  loves  are  given,  O. 

IV. 

I love  to  roam  thy  uplands  o’er. 

While  trees  their  gold  are  turning,  O ; 

And  like  a beacon  on  the  shore. 

In  the  west,  the  day  is  burning,  O, 

V. 

To  view  each  bare,  and  mossy  stone, 
Tlie  brown  and  sunburnt  heather,  O; 

The  woodland  and  the  desert  lone, 

I love  thee  all  together,  O. 


iThe  above  lines  refer  to  my  first  school  house  and  the 
surrounding  country,  which  was,  unexceptionally,  the  most 
beautiful  stretch  of  craggy  hills  and  interlacing  valllesand 
woods  I ever  witnessed  ; the  beauty  of  which  was  greatly  in- 
tensified in  the  autumn,  when  nature  takes  especial  pride  in 
her  gaudy  attire  of  purple  and  yellow.  It  was  at  this  time 
that  I resigned  the  humble  plow-handles  for  the  more  dig- 
nified master’s  rule. 


POEMS. 


IT 


VI. 

The  ragged  and  the  cragged  form, 

The  rough  and  cliilly  weather,  O; 

The  lightning  and  the  angry  storm. 

That  drives  across  the  heather,  O. 

VII. 

The  tangled  fern,  and  quiet  dell ; 

The  brook  that  charms  the  noisy  glen 
The  wild  bird  and  his  notes,  full  well. 
Enlist  the  passing  thoughts  of  meiu 

THE  MORNING  BREAKS* 

I, 

The  morning  breaks,  m}^  soul  awakes; 

The  day  ensues  of  anguish. 

But  while  my  sight  is  blessed  with  light^^. 
And  love,  ITl  never  languish. 

II. 

Joy  eomes;  grief  goes,  with  its  throes. 

Nor  troubles  care  and  sorrow ; 

For  day  and  night,  my  soul’s  delight 
Is  ever  with  my  Nora. 

III. 

’Tis  not  her  eyes,  that  stars  defies. 

Which  fills  my  soul  with  rapture  ; 

Her  form  so  fair,  nor  face  so  rare. 

But  his  her  lovely  nature. 

IV. 

Than  Norway’s  coal  or  India’s  gold, 

Her  mind’s  a richer  treasure  ; 

Each  thought  so  mild,  she  nature’s  child,. 
And  yields  me  naught  but  pleasrue* 


18 


POEMS. 


O,  JENNIE,  HOW  I LOVE  THEE* 

I. 

On  flowering  tree,  and  tangled  spray, 

The  little  birds  sing  together; 

Their  little  throats  ring  with  the  joy  of 
Spring, 

It  is  such  bonny  weather. 

II. 

And  were  my  heart  so  blithe  as  theirs  ; 

My  song,  so  sweet  or  fairly ! 

But  this  poor  heart’s  borne  down  vvith  cares, 
I love  thee,  O,  so  dearly. 

III. 

Oould  vocal  wire  my  rapt  lire  tell, 

Or  song,  to  pity,  move  thee. 

My  laboring  muse  would  strive  full  well, 

O,  Jennie,  how  I love  thee. 


BESIDE  THE  GRAVE  OF  MARY* 

I. 

Wild,  sweeps  the  blast  down  the  dale. 

The  winds  of  wild  November,  O ; 

And  bleek’s  the  blast,  that  sweeps  this  breast. 
And  chills  each  dying  ember,  O. 

II. 

The  woods  are  tossed  and  cuffed  and  crossed. 
The  angry  gale  runs  high,  O ; 

As  I wander  the  waste,  in  confusion  lost, 
Like  yon  bewildered  sky,  O. 


POEMS. 


19 


III. 

The  falling  leaves  now,  one  by  one, 

Their  dying  tales  are  telling,  O ; 

And  one  by  one,  the  joys  are  wrung. 

That  once,  this  breast  were  swelling,  O. 

IV. 

I have  no  mind,  the  world  to  roam, 

Nor  yet,  a mind  to  tarry,  O ; 

I only  long  to  find  a home. 

Beside  the  grave  of  Mary,  O. 

V. 

But  one  sweet  day  we  lived  to  love. 

And  then  fell  death  and  cruel,  O ; 

He  left  me  in  this  world  to  rove. 

And  robbed  me  of  my  jewel,  O. 

VI. 

Ye  flowers,  ye  may  ne’er  bloom  so  gay, 

To  de('k  my  darling’s  bosom,  O; 

Now  heaves  the  turf,  and  cold’s  the  clay. 
That  holds  my  faded  blossom,  O. 


MOTHERS 

I. 

No  more  the  morn  delights  me. 
Nor  more  tha  setting  sun  ; 
’Tis  grief  alone  invites  me  ; 

Why  is  my  mother  gone  ? 


' The  language  of  this  simple  ditty  is  surely  very  childlike 
j confess  ; but  the  sympathive  reader  will  surely  pardon 
his  excessive  fondues  of  nature. 


20 


POEMS. 


II. 

O,  bow  I miss  lier  kisses. 

That  fell  like  summer’s  rain; 

And  her  lovingly  fond  caresses;. 

O,  bring  her  back  again. 

III. 

Lonely  and  sad,  I wander, 

These  mortal  windings  o’er  ; 

And  I sigh  for  an  hour  to  sqiiandeiv 
In  the  love  that  is  no  more. 

IV. 

Oft,  by  her  knee  at  evening, 

I learned  to  lisp  a prayer; 

Twas  then,  I knew  no  grieving — 
Peace  loved  to  linger  there. 

V. 

But  death’s  fell  dart  and  savage. 
Pierced  deep  her  bleeding  heart 

And  naught  is  left  to  ravish, 

Or  comfort  to  impart. 

VI. 

And  cold,  the  blasts  are  blowing. 
About  her  weeping  child  ; : 

And  soon  may  the  grass  be  growing,. 
Above  his  bosom  wild. 

VII. 

O,  time.  O,  change,  and  sorrow. 

It  were  a bitter  blast. 

If  life  had  no  to-morrow, 

When  the  soul  may  rest,  at  last.^ 


POEMS. 


21 


RUIN. 

I. 

Who  made  the  human  heart  so  frail, 
‘Tis  he,  alone,  that  knows  it  ; 

The  pang  of  grief,  the  silent  tale. 

In  ruin  that  o’er  throws  it. 

II. 

Then  why  condemn  our  neighbor’s  toil. 
Nor  weed  our  own  wild  garden  ? 

The  worst,  the  meanest,  in  the  broil, 
May  find  a Father’s  pardon. 

It  boots  us  little,  if  we  be, 

In  fortune  cast,  or  povert}^ ; 

To  be  a man,  is  not  the  part 

Of  circumstance  but  of  the  heart. 


OFT  I SWORE. 

Oft  I swore,  I ne’er  would  love  thee ; 

Yet  when  ere  I happen  near  thee, 

I can  naught  but  fondly  love  thee; 

Heaven  and  love  so  sweet  endear  thee. 

-For  to  see  thee,  is  to  love  thee  ; 

And  to  love  thee,  is  to  tremble; 

For,  witli  thee,  what  clouds,  above  me 
Anxious  fear  and  care  assemble  ! 

We  apeing  fools,  astounded  and  perplexed, 
To  think  upon  the  mass  that  gave  us  birth  ; 
With  unfledged  longings  soar  to  reach  the 
next, 

T hen  sadly  drop  to  this  poor  wreck  of  earth. 


22 


POEMS. 


EXTEMPORE— MELANCHOLY* 
A day,  without  a sun  ; 

A night,  witliout  a star  ; 

A man,  witliout  a friend. 


CEASE,  CEASE,  THY  SONG* 

I. 

Cease,  cea^e,  thy  song  thou  happy  bird,. 
That  sings  beside  thy  mate  ; 

Little,  thou  feels  a soul  disturbed, 

And  harrowed  o’er,  by  fate. 

II. 

O,  cease  1 by  joys,  or  else,  too  soon, 

Tliis  troubled  heart  of  mine, 

Will  sink  in  an  eternal  swoon. 

And  never  think  of  thine. 

III. 

Thou  art  so  happy,  ga3^  and  free, 

’Tis  Heaven,  me  thinks,  alway; 

Earth  were  a lonely  place,  with  thee 

And  music  done  away. 

IV. 

And  were  this  heart  so  light  as  yours — 
From  grief  and  care,  so  free — 

Gladly,  Pd  yield  what  life  endures. 

To  sing  an  hour  with  thee. 

V. 

But  since  some  life  must  fret  and  feaiv 
I can  but  now  resign  ; 

And  where  the  human  fails  to  cheer, 

Still  lean,  on  the  devine. 


POEMS. 


O,  WERE  MY  LOVE* 

T. 

O,  were  my  love  yon  little  brook, 

That  sweetly  sings  its  hanks,  along,. 

And  I,  a posy,  on  the  brink, 

To  listen  to  his  dreamy  song  ! 

II. 

How  I would  bloom,  the  live-long  day. 

And  sweetly  deck  his  rosy  side  ! 
rd  laugh  to  see  the  show’rs  of  May, 

Come  tumbling  down  his  swollen  tide^ 

III. 

But  if,  through  drought  or  summer’s  heat. 
My  little  love  should  babble  dry, 

I’d  pour  my  last  tear,  at  his  feet. 

And,  with  him,  wither  up  and  die. 

THE  LAD  O^ER  THE  MOOR* 

I. 

There  is  no  one  for  me,  like  tlie  lad  o’er  the 
moor, 

His  spirit  so  light  and  his  bosom  still  truer; 
All  day,  by  the  [)low  or  the  sweet-smelling^ 
hay. 

He  thinks  of  his  love  as  he  whistles  his  lay. 
Or  tosses  the  blossoming  clover. 

II. 

No  sooner  the  sun,  on  the  hill,  is  laid  down. 
And  pillowed  his  head,  for  rest; 

Than  o’er  the  wild  moor,  light-footed  and 
sure. 

He  hastes  to  the  one  he  loves  best* 


^4 


POEMS. 


III. 

And  oft,  he  has  promised,  that  he  sliall  be 
mine, 

As  sure  as  the  water  that  flows  ; 

If  the  lark  ever  sang,  on  tlie  maple  or  pine. 
Or  if  green,  is  the  grass,  that  grows. 


PLL  FONDLY  SHELTER  THEE* 

I. 

What  makes  iny  gentle  lady  weep  ? 

What  hidden  griefs  her  bosom  rend? 

The  lengthened  sighs,  that  o’er  her  sweep. 
Bespeak  the  parting  of  a friend. 

II. 

Ah,  me  ! and  one  so  true  and  fair 
Must  weep  a lover  dead  ? 

O,  do  not  droop,  in  such  despair, 

With  sorrow’s  aching  head. 

III. 

Upon  my  breast,  thy  burdens  cast. 

And  let  me  all  thy  comfort  be  ; 

I’ll  shield  thee,  from  the  raging  blast ; 

And  fondly  shelter  thee. 


POEMS. 


25 


NOW  DEATH  IS  SWEETJ 

I- 

Now  from  the  dark  and  moaning  shore, 
The  chilling  tide  is  sinking  ; 

Trouble  with  me  will  soon  be  o’er, 

For  life,  from  its  bounds,  is  shrinking^ 

11. 

Farewell,  thou  sad  and  dreary  strand, 

I oft  have  trod  so  lonely  ; 

With  but  one  liand  to  comfort  lend,, 

And  one  to  cheer  me,  only. 

111. 

Too  long,  upon  this  dreary  waste, 

Tve  wept  and  sighed  and  beckoned,. 

To  the  phantom  ships  tliat  by  me  past;^ 
With  not  a sail  that  reckoned. 

IV. 

At  last,  upon  the  lonely  main. 

My  beckoned  ship  advances; 

How  this  poor  heart  is  eased  its  pain,. 

To  see  how  light  she  dances  ! 

V. 

O,  liaste,  thou  ship,  that  bears  me  o’er,. 
And  haste,  thou  pilot  somber ; 

And  from  this  dark  and  dreary  shore,, 

O haste,  to  bear  me  yonder. 


' Written  in  a season  of  darkest  melancholy,  and  at  de- 
pressing illness,  when  I fully— and  almost  gratefully— real- 
ized how  thin,  the  fragile  veil  that  stretched  between  me  and 
that  awful  gulf. 


^6 


POEMS. 


DRYDEN^S  LAMENT, 

I. 

Nature  now  tunes  the  heart  of  summer, 

And  the  birds  are  blithe  and  gay,  O; 

But  my  heart  is  filled  with  a dreary  murmur, 
And  lone  is  the  sweetest  day,  O. 

II. 

JFar  from  the  land  of  faithful  kindred, 

And  the  gentle  fair  I love,  O; 

Exiled  in  grief,  from  pleasure  hindred, 
Disconsolate  I rove,  O. 

in. 

And  O,  the  nights  are  long  and  dreary. 
With  my  darling  far  away,  O; 

And  this  sad  heai  t i§  sore  and  weary, 

With  longings  of  the  day^  O. 

IV. 

Ye  powers  in  Heaven,  whose  gentle  office 
Is  to  guard  the  good  and  fair; 

O!  protect  a kindred  angel, 

And  where  she  is,  O,  bless  her  there. 

v. 

And  if  I thus  must  languish  ever. 

From  the  angel  wife  I love, 

Grant,  upon  the  eternal  river, 

We,  at  last,  shall  meet  above. 


POEMS. 


27 


SV7EET  ina: 


I. 


Sweet  Ina,  empress  of  the  heart, 

That  reigns,  in  this  sa  i bosom, 

To  love  thee,  is  a prince’s  part, 

Thou  lovel^'  little  blossom. 

II. 

Thou  art  so  sweet,  yet  not  so  fair, 

No  bright  and  golden  tresses ; 

But  in  thy  face,  an  angel’s  there, 

And  ere  I look,  she  blesses. 

III. 

There’s  many  a lass,  that  hearts  beguiles, 
Yet  none  so  sweet  as  thou  art  ; 

With  all  tlieir  fashions,  arts  and  styles. 
Thou  modest  little  flowret. 

tv. 

And  were  my  heart  so  pure  as  thine. 

So  mild  each  thought  and  gentle; 

Much  less  this  breast  would  need  repine, 
For  Heav’n  were  then  its  rentab 


^ It  was,  I remember,  during  a late  autumnal  rain,  while 
going  to  worship  in  a Lutheran  chapel,  that  I “ struck  oft’  ’ 
almost  extemporaneously  the  above  verses  on  the  sweetest 
young  lady  that  ever  soothed  the  pangs  of  an  unhappy 
heart. 


28 


POEMS. 


YE  GRACIOUS  POWERS.' 

I, 

Ye  gracious  powers,  in  Heav'n  above,. 

Whose  first  delight  and  pleasure 
Is  in  a home  of  peace  and  love, 

Here  bless  a double  measure. 

ic. 

Here  walks,  in  peace,  a loving  pair^ 
The  path  of  life  together; 

O,  shield  them  from  its  desert  air — 

A calm  and  pleasant  weather, 

III. 

And  this,  the  angeP’  of  their  love. 
With  all  thy  sweetness,  bless  her  ;; 
And  from  the  villain’s  net  of  love — 
For  their  fond  sakes,  release  her. 


1 On  visiting  my  sister’s  home,  after  some  wanderingv- 
my  soul  is  regretfully  flooded  with  the  scene  of  its  peace  and 
contentment,  which  I have  here  most  miserably  ‘ ‘ stniefc 
off”  retiring  to-night.— Nov.  12,  ’99. 

This  is  the  same  infant  niece,  an  address  to  whom^v 
appears  on  another  page. 


POEMS. 


29 


THE  VAGRANT^S  RETURN. 

I. 

Then  clear  to  the  end  of  the  journey, 
And  way  to  the  end  of  the  road, 
1*11  follow  the  beautiful  pathway, 
Tliat  leads  to  my  father’s  abode, 

II. 

For  there,  sin  or  shame  ever  enter; 

And  this  troubled  scene  is  o’er ; 
And  the  arrow  that  pieces  its  center, 
Shall  pain  the  heart  never  more. 

III. 

For  01  this  breast  is  weary  ; 

And  this  heart  is  sad  and  lone. 
With  wanderings  far  and  dreary. 
From  my  father’s  peaceful  home. 


^TIS  NOT  THY  EYE. 

I. 

^Tis  not  tiiy  eye  of  bonny  blue, 

That  stai-like  shint^s  so  clearly, 

Thy  form  so  fair,  an  angel  true. 

That  moves  me,  O,  so  dearly. 

II. 

Thou  art  so  young,  so  sweet,  so  fair, 

’Tis  Heaven  in  every  feature  ; 

But  more  than  these,  that  charm  me  sore, 
Thy  mild  and  lovely  nature. 


30 


POEMS. 


III. 

If  thou  hast  faults,  I ne’er,  can  find  them, 
My  heart,  thou  hast  so  beguiled  ; 

About  thy  harp,  my  thoughts  entwine  them,, 
Drawn  by  its  music  wild. 

IV. 

Upon  the  margin  of  thy  love, 

I drink  me  drunk  with  pleasure  ; 

I’ll  seek  no  other  joys  above, 

My  soul’s  devinest  treasure. 


AWAY  O^ER  THE  SEA* 

I. 

Away  o’er  the  sea,  is  the  land  for  me. 

Where  summer  is,  aye,  the  weather; 

W here  the  cotton  grows  and  the  sweet  orange 
blows. 

With  flower  and  fruit  together. 

ii. 

Where  the  soft  winds  blow,  and  the  stream- 
lets flow, 

And  the  woods,  with  birds,  are  merry  ; 
And  to  their  song,  the  whole  year  long, 

I’d  ever  list  and  tarry. 

III. 

But,  to  this  ear,  some  voice’s  more  dear^ 
Some  face,  more  sweet  and  cheery ; 

And  from  soiiie  heart,  I’ll  never  part. 

And  ne’er  grow  sad  and  weaiy. 


POEMS 


3r 


PRIDE  OF  THE  VILLAGE* 

I. 

O,  she  pines  ini<l  the  scenes  of  her  triumph 
And  the  heart  within  her  is  wild; 

O,  slie  pines,  like  a flower  in  the  shadow, 
For  ’lis  long  since  the  sun  on  her  smiled., 

II. 

And  that  sun  ? Ah  ! who  does  not  know  it  ? 

What  lieart,  that’s  not  softened  with  years  ? 
O,  she  pines  for  an  eye  of  pity  ; 

And  her  heart  yearns  a heart,  of  tears. 

III. 

For  she’s  dying,  and  broken  hearted ; 

And  the  flower  on  her  cheek,  grows  dim^. 
For  she’s  thinking  of  days  departed. 

And  her  heart  is  full  of  him. 

IV. 

As  together,  they  strayed  in  the  twilight,. 

Where  the  swift  little  brooklet  run; 

And  he  decked  her  bonny  sweet  bosom,. 

With  the  wild  flowers  in  the  sun. 

V. 

And  with  each  little  flower  he  gave  her,. 

A pledge  of  his  love  devine; 

But  he  proved  the  false  and  left  lu  r, 

In  sorrow  to  waste  and  pine. 


t""''  ‘ It  was  while  reading  Irving’ s pathetic  ‘ ‘ The  i^ride  oi 
the  Village,’  ’ that  the  thought  of  this  simple  ditty  occurred 
to  me.  It  is  hardly  worthy  the  relation  assumed,  j et  I have- 
bound  it,  like  a scanty  vine,  about  the  lofty,  yet  the  sweet 
and  tender,  soul  of  the  girl,  he  pictures,  as  slowly,  yet  un- 
complainingly, pining  away,  as  the  fangs  of  disappointment 
and  grief  silently  fasten  themselves  upon  her  tender  heart. 


32 


POEMS. 


SHEPHERD  AND  SHEPHERDESS* 

HE. 

1. 

Now  summer’s  breath,  on  hill  and  heath, 

Is  shed  in  all  its  sweetness,  O ; 

Then  let  us  there,  my  dear,  repair 
And  share  in  its  completeness,  O. 

II. 

There  wild  woods  wave  and  waters  lave, 

The  flowers  that  grow  beside  them,  O ; 

On  tree  and  bush,  the  happy  thrush. 

With  joyous  songs,  betide  them,  O. 

III. 

Then  to  the  hills,  where  woods  and  rills 
And  flowers  adorn  our  dwelling,  O ; 
Where  breezes  blo\/  and  pleasures  fl.ow. 

And  joy  and  love  are  swelling,  O. 

IV. 

In  palace  hall  and  painted  wall. 

I’ve  mixed  in  mirth  and  pleasure,  O; 

But  the  sweetest  hour  that  was  ere  my 
dower, 

Was  spent  with  my  countless  treasure,  O. 

V. 

Then  well  away,  on  the  hills  to  stray, 

And  list  to  the  wild  birds  warble,  O; 

And  thou  shalt  reign,  my  lovely  queen, 

To  banish  care  and  trouble,  O. 


POEMS. 


33^ 


SHEPHERD  AND  SHEPHERDESS---Con. 

SHE. 

I. 

The  bonniest  lad,  that  ere  I had, 

And  many  a one,  liad  I,  O, 

la  the  faithful  lad,  that  makes  me  glad. 

And  for  my  sake  would  die,  O. 

1.1. 

Where  ere  away,  my  love  may  stray. 

This  attendant  heart  will  follow; 

For  summer’s  treat  was  ne’er  so  sweet. 

As  the  draught  of  love  I swallow. 

HI. 

Then  we'll  away,  on  the  hills  to  stray, 

Nor  care  nor  pain  shall  grieve,  O ; 

Nor  fame  nor  wealth  shall  tempt  our  healthy 
Nor  happiness  to  leave,  O. 


NOW  CHILLIS  THE  NIGHT, 

1. 

Now  chill's  the  night  and  pale  each  light  ; 

The  driving  clouds  how  dreary  ! 

Yet  Pll  be  ga}^  though  night  and  day 
And  skies  were  ne'er  so  weary. 

II. 

For  the  lass,  I love  all  else  above. 

Has  promised  to  be  my  dearie  ; 

And  so  much  in  sight  of  Heaven  and  light, 
How  could  I then  be  weary  ? 


34 


POEMS. 


III. 

For  as  in  glee,  delights  the  bee, 

To  feast  upon  a blossom, 

My  fancy’s  flight,  in  rapt  delight, 

Still  dwells  upon  her  bosom. 

IV. 

But  on  flower  or  tree,  the  ravished  bee 
Ne’er  found  a sweeter  treasure  ; 

JEaoh  thought  so  mild,  she’s  nature’s  child. 
And  yields  me  naught  but  pleasure. 


AUTUMN. 

I. 

The  moaning  gale,  with  angry  blast, 

Now  beats  the  hill,  full  sorely,  O; 

Tne  falling  leaves,  tiiey  rustle  fast, 

For  this  is  Autumn,  surely,  0. 

II. 

Nature  has  doffed  her  cap  of  green  ; 

No  more,  the  flow’rs  are  springing,  O, 
No  brooding  nest  is  longer  seeiij 
The  birds,  no  more,  are  singing,  O. 

III. 

The  tempest  and  the  angry  air 

Still  sweep  the  moor  and  heather,  O, 
^he  shivering  herds  are  well  aware 
That  this  is  Autumn  weather,  O. 


POEMS. 


35 


IV, 

The  clouded  and  the  lonely  sky, 
The  snow  and  rain  together,  O ; 
The  dead  leaves  as  they  rustle  by, 
Assure  us  of  the  weather,  O. 


OH  I TELL  ME  WHERE. 

1. 

O,  tell  me,  where  my  dove  has  flown 
To  build  her  downy  nest; 

And  I will  roam  this  wide  world  o’er. 
To  win  her  to  my  breast. 

IT. 

For,  O!  this  lonely  heart  is  sore; 

And,  O 1 my  feet  are  weary  ; 

With  wandering  this  desert  o’er, 
A-searching  for  my  dearie. 

III. 

And  could  I now  beside  her  rest. 

And  still  my  own,  believe  her; 
Gladly  I yield  this  aching  breast, 
Forever  and  forever. 


The  meanest  man,  or  Turk  or  Yankee, 

Is  the  one,  who  never  says : I thank  ye.'' 


36 


POEMS, 


IN  GILDED  COACH* 

I. 

In  gilded  coach,  the  rich  may  ride  ; 

While  1,  for  lack  of  gear,  O, 

A poor  and  shame-veiled  head  must  hide, 
And  fret  away  in  fear,  O. 


TI. 

Yet  liovv  ere  poor  may  be  my  door, 

Or  mean  may  be  my  standing,  O ; 

The  lass  I love  will  ever  prove 
My  angel,  fair  attending,  O. 

III. 

Then  what  cire  I,  how  rogues  ride  by  ; 

How  grand,  how  high  or  swelling,  O ? 
Their  hearts  are  more  bereft  and  sore. 
Than  ere  the  poor  man’s  dwelling,  O, 


O^THOU  THAT  REIGNS. 


I. 

O,  Thou,  that  reigns  in  Heaven  the  light  and 
Lord, 

The  source  and  self  of  all  its  beauty, 
Attune  my  heart  thus  sweetly  to  accord 
With  every  sense  of  duty;  — 


POEMS. 


37 


II. 

To  the  cheerless  wanderer,  may  home  appear; 

TLe  rich  and  proud  still  learn  to  pity; 
With  poverty,  still  wipe  the  falling  tear; — 
The  outcast,  and  the  stranger  city. 


CHARMING  FLORENCE. 

Let  the  loud  blasts  blow,  and  the  wild 
streams  flow, 

Or  hail  descend  in  torrents,  O; 

They  can  ne’er  molest  my  ravished  breast. 
Beside  my  charming  Florence,  O. 

II. 

She  is  not  rich,  yet,  with  careful  hitch. 

We’ll  pull,  I wean,  together,  O; 

And  a cottage  door,  with  simple  store, 
Will  shield  us  from  the  weather,  O. 

III. 

Then  winds  may  rave,  and  thief  and  knave 
May  steal  and  rob  the  other,  O; 

Nor  care,  nor  fear  can  enter  here. 

Our  happiness  to  bother,  O. 

IV. 

I env3^  not  the  richer  lot; 

But  rather  sigh  f(^r  pity,  O, 

For  those  who  bear  their  wealth  and  care 
In  the  great  and  sinful  city,  O. 


38 


POEMS, 


NOW  THE  HARVEST  WAVES  YELLOW- 


I. 

Now  tlie  ])arvest  waves  yellow,  in  every 
green  field  ; 

For  his  ungatbered  sweets,  roves  the  bee; 
Yet  nature  lier  wonted  delights  can  not  yield, 
My  lover’s  so  far,  far  from  roe. 

II. 

Now  music  nor  mirth  no  more  can  engage, 
Nor  laughter  nor  song  can  please  me; 

He  only  my  trouble  and  grief  can  assuage, 
Now  anguish  and  care  sorely  seize  me, 

HI. 

If  ere  soon  he’ll  not  return. 

To  cheer  this  aching  bosom; 

His  flower  of  love,  that  is  seared  and  burned, 
For  him  no  more  shall  blossom. 


MY  LADYILOVE- 

I, 

Thou  art  my  true,  my  royal  lady  ; 

The  towering  forests  deep  and  shady, 

Than  thy  lofty  mien,  is  not  more  stately ; 
Nor  droops  the  flow’ret,  more  sedately, 
Beside  thy  passing  feet. 


POEMS. 


S9 


II. 

M'is  tliee  alone,  my  sours  adoring  ; 

Witlj  tliee,  to  Ueav’n  my  heart  is  soaring. 
Thou  art  so  pure  and  sweet. 

Queens  may  be  blessed,  in  art  refined  ; 
Though  not  high-born,  thou  art  noble 
minded; 

And  that’s  a royal  treat. 


MY  SAILOR  LOVE. 

I. 

Wlien  the  birdies  come  again, 

And  the  fields,  with  flow’ra,  are  gay  ; 

And  the  sweet  and  welcome  sunshine 
warms  the  breeze  ; 

Tlien  my  poor  heart  will  be  glad, 

For  my  roving  sailor  lad 

Will  be  home  from  wandering  o’er  the 
lonely  seas. 

II. 

Now  his  hearth,  for  him  to-night^ 

Glimmers  with  a rosy  light, 

As  if  its  glow  could  draw  him  nearer  home. 
Though  the  winds  are  wild  without ; 

And  the  tempest  storms  about, 

I know  he  thinks  of  me  where  e’er  he 


roam. 


40 


POEMS. 


III. 

Heaven,  lead  his  sail  to-night, 

JSafely  its  uncertain  flight, 

Secure  within  the  harbor  and  the  bay. 
May  his  nightly  dreams  at  sea 
Dwell  upon  his  babes  and  me. 

And  Ids  little  lonely  cottage^  far 


TO  A STAR. 

I. 

O,  were  my  love  3^011  beaming  star. 
That  sweetly  sheds  her  gentle  ray^ 

And  I,  the  moon  that  from  afar. 

Steals  softly  o’er  the  jewel  way  ! 

II. 

No  tardy  course  would  ere  be  rniae^ 
To  view  her  gentle  beaming  lights 

And  on  my  breast,  would  ever  shine. 
The  sweetest  gem  of  all  the  night- 
111. 

But  should  her  lovefor  me  growcold^ 
And  all  1113^  pleadings  prove  in  yalu; 

Forever  from  the  staiiy  fold, 

Pd  sink  into  the  sullen  main. 


POEMS. 


41 


DREAR  DECEMBER* 


I. 

My  heart  is  sad,  I wist  not  why, 

But,  aye,  tlie  tear  comes  in 
And  still  I weep  and  still  I sigh, 

I am  so  lone  and  weary,  O. 

II. 

The  snow  drifts  pile  in  frenzied  heaps. 
And  o’er  the  drifts,  tlie  wild  blast  sweeps; 
While  throngli  the  clouds,  the  sun  scarce 
peeps,. 

To  elieer  the  day  so  dreary,  O. 

III. 

But  winter  wild  will  soon  be  o’er, 

And  summer  wanton,  as  of  yore  ; 

But  winter  wild  will  soon  be  o’er, 

And  there  comes  home,  my  dearie,  O. 


GLENALLEN^S  GROVE* 

I* 

’Tis  closing  day,  the  woods  are  gay 
And  the  flowers  are  sleeping  fair. 

While  o’er  the  stream  the  shadow’s  gleam 
Is  flitting,,  everywhere. 

II. 

Then  come  my  love,  while  the  birds  above 
Their  notes  of  joy  declare  ; 


42 


POEMS. 


For  to  this  heart,  no  hour  apart, 

Thou  seemed’st  more  sweet  and  fair. 

III. 

Air]  we  will  rove,  by  stream  and  grove. 
And  care  forget  and  sorrow; 

From  nature  sweet,  a kind  retreat 
Of  love  and  pleasure  borrow. 


IV. 

Bonny  lassie,  will  ye  go  ? 

The  world’s  so  sweet  and  cheery  1 
ril  bind  a wreath  of  wild  wood  flow’rs. 
And  crown  thee,  aye,  my  dearie. 


SWEET  JESSIE. 

I. 

Why  sliould  I yet  yield  to  despair. 

Or  be  an  ill  repiner  ? 

While  Jessie  is  so  sweet  and  fair, 

I can  naught  but  Heav’n  devine  her. 

II. 

Her  eyes  so  deep  and  soul  so  sweet, 

So  pure  in  every  feature  ; 

An  angel  sure  might  enter  there, 

Nor  change,  a whit,  the  creature. 


POEMS. 


4a 


HI. 

Then  oome  what  may,  fear  or  dismay, 

I know  she  my  sorrow  will  share; 

Her  soul  is  so  sweet,  and  her  eyes  such  a 
treat, 

O,  Jessie  is  queen  of  the  fair. 


NOW  HEAVY  CARE, 

I. 

Now  heavy  care  and  aching  grief 

This  swelling  breast,  are  thronging,  0; 

And  wilt  thou  never  give  relief 
From  this  consuming  longing,  O ? 

II. 

When  first  I viewed  thy  magic  charms, 
Fancy  was  sweetly  faring,  O ; 

Novv,  thou  hast  me  all  disarmed. 

Sighing,  dumb,  dispairing,  O. 

III. 

If  ere  soon,  thou’lt  not  allay 

The  throes,  this  bosom  swelling,  O, 

Soon  beneath  the  silent  clay, 

Shall  this  poor  heart  be  dwelling,  O. 

IV. 

Lassie,  then,  with  sweetest  charms. 

Say,  thou  be  my  dearie! 

And,  unto  these  lonely  arms. 

Haste,  O,  haste,  and  cheer  me. 


44 


POEMS. 


JUNE. 

I. 

This  is  the  month  that  mother  earth  makes 

gay, 

When  held  and  wood,  in  verdant  mantles 
clad, 

Forth  walk,  while  sun  and  flitting  shadows 

play  ; 

And  heavy  hearts,  by  magic  arts,  made 
glad. 

II. 

Blithe  cities,  birds  are  building  in  the  trees; 

With  courteous  songs,  the  courts  of  nature 
fill. 

Fresh  in  their  freedom,  from  the  southern 
seas ; 

And  peaceful  herds  feed  slowly  on  the 
hill. 

III. 

With  garlands  green,  Sjiring  decks  her 
mother's  head  ; 

And  revels  in  the  scene  of  beauty  round; 

Sweet  tokens  of  Heav'n’s  tryst,  about  are 
spread, 

While  meadows  swell,  amid  triumphant 
sound, 

IV. 

Rosy  her  light,  and  dewy  each  fresh  dawn. 

That  makes  the  morning  tremulous,  with 


POEMS. 


45 


Up  froin  the  passing  brook,  the  verdant 
lawn, 

All  iiature  one  sweet  swelling  strain 
prolong. 


V. 

Wliiie  jolly  June,  in  mimic  minstrelsy, 

Stands  tip-toe,  on  Aurora’s  ruddy  beam  ; 
And  picks,  from  his  finger  tips,  with  gayety, 
The  twinkling  stars,  like  kisses,  that 
lightly  gleam. 


VI. 

And  throws  tlum,  at  adoring  earth  and  blue; 

While  the  sweet  earth,  like  suited  maiden 
stands, 

Tiiat  blushing  dashes  from  the  brush  the 
dew, 

With  looks  of  love  concealed  by  locky 
bands. 


VII. 

Amid  such  scenes,  the  robins  choose  their 
mates ; 

On  flitting  wing  and  pla3^ful  warbling 
throat. 

Fling  o|)en  wide  the  happy  trembling  gates 
Of  song,  and  flood  the  earth,  with  festive 
note. 


46 


POEMS. 


vm. 

Now  sweetest  sounds  the  happy  maiden’s 
song, 

At  fading  fall  of  evening’s  gentle  close  ; 

The  anxious  lover  fondly  lingers  long  ; 

’Tis  the  natural  time  of  love  and  sweet 
repose. 

IX. 

And  while  our  hands  their  loving  deeds 
employ, 

Unwonted  heautv,  as  in  dreams,  emblaze 

The  simple  wa3^side  blossom  with  a joy 

For  him,  alone,  who  walks  in  nature’s 
wedded  ways. 

X. 

There’s  sometldug  in  her  look,  tlsat  seems 
to  lift 

The  soul,  a fathcm  farther  towai  d her  God  ; 

And  urg<‘s  on,  while  pain  and  ])leasure  shift, 

The  noble  in  us,  to  its  last  ab;)de. 


POEMS. 


47 


PATI£NCE< 


H )ld  ! gi-ievmg  8])irit,  wljere fore  dost  com- 
plain 

Of  tliy  Fa  I her ’s  clinBleiiings,  to  tby  good 
coiifi]:e(l ; 

Kii  ow’sl  Dot,  Ibo  purest,  metal  of  the  mind, 

is  Avrougbt,  alone,  tbrougb  virtue’s  silent 
])ain  ? 

Than  temporal  good,  far  greater  joys  to  gain, 

Tisy  immortal  sonl  sbould’st  3^0 am,  and  in 
the  dust, 

Earth’s  broken  toys  cast  down;  and  wait- 
ing trust 

For  joys  immutable.  S]>irits  that  reign 

O’er  mortal’s  wanderings,  and  their  light 
afford, 

With  guiding  ray,  nn^  darkening  path  attend; 

And  well  attune  my  temper  to  acord, 

With  Heav’n’s  own  ecstacy,  that  to  this  end. 

All  present  concord  I may  well  insure; 

Still  patientl}",  to  suffer  and  endure. 


^Written  on  a bed  of  pain. 


48 


POEMS. 


NOW  BLEAK’S  THE  DAY. 

I. 

Now  bleak’s  the  day,  and  in  fierce  array. 
The  winds  rusli  wild  together  ; 

O’er  the  white  drifts  deep,  the  storm 
sweep ; 

Surely  ’tis  wintry  weather. 

II. 

Yet  winds  and  snow,  how  ere  ye  blow^ 
The  day,  though  ne’er  so  dreary; 

Nor  drifting  tide,  nor  desert  wide. 

Can  keep  me  from  my  dearie. 

IIL 

Were  ye  as  deep  or  black  and  bleak* 

As  San  tan  ere  could  make  ye; 

Or  rivers  wild, with  furies  piled, 

I’d  never  stop  to  take  ye, 

iv. 

For  her,  I’d  brave  the  mountain  side; 

For  her,  I’d  stem  the  ferry; 

For  her,  I’d  brave  the  roaring  tide. 

Nor  longer, will  I tarry. 


OH!  THE  LAND  IS  POOR. 

I, 

O,  the  land  is  poor  where  the  mulleins 
But  hearts  are  true  as  any,  O; 

And  tl  le  truest  still  of  all,  I know. 

Is  my  sweetheart,  my  Jennie,  O. 


POEMS. 


4^ 


II. 

Love  is  her  throne  and  grace,  alone, 
And  beauty  bend  above  her,  O ; 

May  Ileav’n  forbear,  that  I should  ere,. 
Too  madly,  cease  to  love  her,  O. 

III. 

Where  ere  I go,  where  ere  I stray. 

My  path  is  ever  dreary,  O ; 

And  with  my  darling  far  away, 

How  can  I be  but  weary,  O, 


SOME  GENTLEMEN  THERE  ARE. 

I. 

Some  gentlemen  there  are,  and  swell 
In  city  ways,  and  all  that; 

To  iheir  fond  ladies,  sweetly  tell 
Their  idle  praise,  and  more  than  that. 


II. 

Yet  what  I’ve  heard  and  what  I’ve  seen, 
I ken,  their  hearts  are  ill  at  rest ; 
’Twere  better  far,  though  poor,  I wean,. 
To  trust  a faithful  lover’s  breast. 

III. 

Fair  lords  of  rank  and  honored  race. 
High-born  but  so  low-minded ; 

Masters  of  wealth  and  faultless  grace,. 

In  the  arts  of  hell  refined. 


.^0 


POEMS. 


tv. 

From  virtue’s  side,  to  cause  to  part, 
Some  modest  houseliold  treasure; 
^o  ruin  a life  aud  break  a heart, 
That  were  a passing  pleasure. 


LIGHT  OF  THE  ^ORLD. 


I. 

Light  of  the  world,  beneatli  whose  guiding 

Our  wandering  feet  may  never  stray; 

Our  hands  ne’er  grope  their  hidden  way, 
Along  this  nightly  sliore; 

For  the  Lord,  himself,  hath  come  to  dwell, 
Within  His  living  oracle, 

Forever  more. 

II. 

O,  for  a gleam  of  that  Heavenly  ire, 

Within  this  breast,  to  brighter  burn; 
Consume  its  choky  false,  and  turn 
That  smouldering  spark  into  a fire, 

Of  flashing  truth,  though  hell’s  dread  urn 
Be  dried  to  quench  that  one  desire! 

III. 

Through  this  vale  of  changing  scenes,  to 
bear 

Life’s  little  wrongs  and  mild  distress. 


POEMS. 


51 


With  sweet  and  unoomplaining  care; 

That  is,  me  thinks,  true  nobleness 
Of  woman;  she  breathes  TTeav’n’s  native  air; 
The  excellence  of  peace  and  happiness. 

IV. 

Ho  vv  much  lie  needs,  in  hours  of  grief, 
lleav’n’s  golden  urn  to  draw  relief; 

Wlio  hapless  holds  no  earthly  hope, 

To  cheer  him  up  life’s  rugged  slope; 

No  loving  hand  to  dry  his  tears. 

Allay  his  sorrows  and  his  fears, 

Or  trim  the  fading  light. 


THE  WORLD’S  A JEST. 

I. 

The  \v^orld’s  a jest  with  many,  at  best; 

To  others,  full  of  Miming  : 

And  some  find  woe,  where  ere  they  go. 

But  others,  joy  and  singing. 

II. 

And  it  matters  not,  what  time  or  spot 
May  he  our  pla.(*e  and  dwelling; 

In  stabled  stall,  as  in  palace  hall. 

The  springs  of  life  are  swelling, 

III. 

And  life  is  what  we  make  it,  but ; 

Whether  liowers  or  withered  stubble. 

But  the  joys  that  are  gain,  to  others  are  pain ; 
And  the  test  of  the  heart  is  troul)le. 


52 


POEMS, 


IV. 

But  our  hearts  grow  cold,  as  the  world  wanes 
old, 

And  the  more  we  see  of  its  sinning; 

And  the  smile  that  peers  through  a mist  of 
tears, 

Is  the  one  that  is  worth  the  winning. 


BONNY  PEGGY  ALLEN- 

I. 

A morn,  when  eartli  was  blusliing  fair, 
And  I was  pressed  with  grief  and  care,. 
I sallied  in  the  open  air. 

To  kee})  my  heart  from  failin’; 

II. 

At  such  a time  whom  should  I meet. 

Come  tripping  o’er  the  dewy  wet; 

On  such  a morn,  so  fresh  and  sweet. 

But  bonny  Peggy  Allen! 


HI. 

And  in  her  hand,  besprent  with  dew, 

A bunch  of  violets  white  and  blue; 
And,  O,  me  thought,  ‘‘The  soul  of  you,”’ 
Bonny  Peggy  Allen. 


POEMS. 


53 


IV. 

She  stood  so  fresh,  so  pure,  the  while, 
Then  sweetly  blushed  a dimpled  smile; 
I helped  Iier  o'er  the  awkard  stile, 

To  keep  her  feet  from  failin'. 

V. 

And  there,  I swore,  I ne’er  could  part, 
For,  0,  see  held  my  aching  heart; 

And  then,  I swore,  I ne’er  could  part 
From  bonny  Peggy  Allen, 

VI. 

But  she’d  not  listen  to  my  vow  ; 

She  only  thought  me  fooling,  O. 
Should  she  refuse,  I’d  lay  me  low; 

And  all,  for  Peggy  Allen,  O. 


54 


POEMS. 


POVERTY  DREARJ 


T. 


How  many  are  they  that  night  and  dsiy, 

Are  ever  sad  and  weary, 

With  the  pains  they  bear,  and  their  weight 
of  care; 

And  the  world  is,  O,  so  dreary ! 


IT. 


Wiiile  the  rich  and  gay  still  speed  away, 
A?id  careless  seek  for  pleasure; 

O,  little,  they  know,  in  this  world  of  woe. 
The  worth  of  that  priceless  treasure. 


III. 


And  little,  tliey  feel,  for  the  woe  or  weal 
Of  the  poor,  in  the  crowded  city; 

Of  the  thousands  that  bear  their  weight  of 
care, 

Without  a heart  to  pity. 


’Written  while  standing  on  the  Brooklj-n  Bridge,  after 
witnessing  the  disgusting  poverty  that  exists  in  that  vicinity 


POEMS. 


5^ 


ELLEN  GRAY* 


I. 

When  ends  the  weary  toil  of  day, 
And  herds  are  home-returning  ;; 
Across  the  moor  to  my  Ellen  Gray^^ 
My  feet  are  ever  turning. 

II. 

The  setting  sun  that  gilds  the  west^^ 
A kindled  flood  of  fire, 

Is  not  so  bright  as  I am  blest, 

When  fondly  roving  by  her. 


m. 

As  one  by  one,  the  stars  appear, 

When  darkness  broods  the  night, 
Her  jeweled  charms  to  me  are  dear,. 
And  glitter  on  my  sight,  O. 

VI. 

The  little  daisy  by  the  Ava}^, 

The  very  eye  of  beauty. 

Before  her,  droops  its  head  to  say  i 
‘Tt  is  my  modest  duty.” 

V. 

Each  budding  tree  and  flower  declare^ 
‘‘She  is  own,  my  dearest ; ” 

And  were  she  not  so  kind  and  fair,. 
Earth  were  a desert  drearest. 


56 


POEMS. 


VJ. 

The  brooks  that  clown  their  cliannels  fret, 
By  flow’rj  banks  of  May,  O, 

Will  all  go  dry  ere  I forget  : 

‘Tm  happier  than  they,  O.’’ 


UNDER  THE  LILAC. 

I. 

Over  the  hill,  down  by  the  rill, 

Under  the  lilac  tree; 

While  the  little  stars  shine, 

T’il  pledge  I am  thine. 

Dear  Robin,  forever  to  be, 

II. 

There  let  us  go,  there  let  us  stay, 

There  let  us,  Robin  dear; 

There  flee  from  anxious  care  away. 

From  sorrow  and  from  fear. 

III. 

There  odorous  sweets, 

The  grateful  sens-e  meets, 

Under  the  lilac  tree; 

And  one  little  hour,  in  that  happy  bower. 

Is  Heaven  itself,  with  thee. 

IV. 

The  birds  to  their  nest,  have  now  gone  to 
rest. 

Up  in  the  lilac  tree; 

Yet  happier  than  they,  dear  Robin,  and  gay. 
This  heart  that  is  lost  in  thee. 


POEMS. 


57 


V. 

No  intrusive  cry  shall  invade  our  joy, 
Under  the  lilac  tree; 

But  supremely  blest,  with  love.  I’ll  rest„ 
In  ecstacy  with  thee. 

VI. 

A prince’s  bride  such  bliss  ne’er  enjo3^ed,. 
As  under  a lilac  tree  ; 

So  honor’s  pride  and  wealth  may  slide; 
m covet  naught,  but  thee. 


SUMMER. 

I. 

O,  this  is  the  season  that  nature  is  gay. 

And  the  flow’rets  peep  up,  in  the  shadow  ; 
While  over  the  haze,  the  soft  wind  plays. 
And  the  bobolink  sings  o’er  the  meadow., 

II . 

The  little  birds  telling  their  tales  of  love,. 

Flit  round  on  the  boughs  together; 

And  the  gentle  herds  low,  by  the-  brooklei 
below, 

O,  surely,  ’tis  sweet  bonny  weather. 

HI. 

O,  thin  is  the  season  of  all  the  year. 

For  there’s  hardly  a day  that’s  dieary; 

And  the  soul  seems  to  rise,  as  Heav’n  draws 
near. 

And  the  days  are  to  sweet  and  cheery. 


POEMS. 


^18 


NATURE  SKETCH. 

When  heaves  the  troubled  breast,  with  ach- 
ing care, 

And  sorrow,  like  a shadow,  falls  of  night, 
‘O-o  roam  the  fields  and  woodlands  wild,  and 
find 

How  amiable  sweet  nature  is;  how  strong, 
The  drooping  heart  to  lift,  and  flush  with  life 
The  spirit  fading  into  languor;  when 
The  soul  is  true,  and  faithful  glows  upon 
The  hearth  of  all  her  human  sympathies. 

To  you,  a choice  companion  and  a friend, 
Long-sought — at  last  restored  in  fond  em- 
bra(!e, 

The  dearer  for  his  absence — will  she  prove. 
Beneath  her  warm  familiar  smile,  that  far 
Transcends  the  smiles  of  royalty,  tlie  heart’s 
Long  frozen  snows  begin  to  drip  and  melt; 
From  her  rnaturnal  lips  that  ever  bless, 

Her  tender  words  of  fond  endearment  fall. 
Like  the  softened  strains  that  lulled  our 
infancy. 

And  yet  her  guilt-directing  frown  doth 
make 

The  villain  shudder,  ’neath  his  conscious 
shroud 


POEMS. 


59 


Of  inner  darkness  dread;  and  from  ber  flee, 
As  from  a wasting*  [)t‘stile{ice,to  hide. 

How  low,  ids  state  tl'.at  can  no  higher  rise, 
Than  ’long  the  dark  and  chilly  wall  of  dull 
Material,  to  gro[)e — foreign  to  the  natural. 
Who,  comfoi  tless  and  wholly  unaware 
Of  that  infinite  beauty,  silent  and 
Sustaining,  doth  all  power  deny  save  in 
The  tangible.  While  sure,  though  softlj^ 
glides 

Beldnd  the  curtain  of  the  seen,  that  high 
And  pure  Invisible.  The  simplest  flow  er 
That  decks  yon  towTing  wood  or  meadow 
green. 

Betrays  the  hidden  touches  of  His  person; 
The  fathomless  heights  of  heav’n  are  teeming 
with 

His  presence;  all  the  refulgent  gloiy  that 
smiles 

Upon  a low^er  \vorld  and  makes  it  bright 
And  beauteous,  is  but  the  streakings  of 
A brighter  dawn,  where  manifest  and  free 
From  mortal  insult,  the  ‘‘ Long-felt,  Unseen 
Is  clad  in  garments  visible. 

Yet  ere, 

To  that  far-distant  realm,  the  ravished  soul 
Repair  ; and  pass  Death’s  mighty  threshhold 
to  that 

Familiar  hearth  whose  genial  glow  regales 


60 


POEMS. 


The  wondering  visitor,  with  distant  memories,. 
A solemn  voice,  more  deep  than  audible. 
Ever  persuades:  ‘‘The  hand  for  ages,  that 
Has  held,  without  a jar,  the  infinite  orbs 
Of  heaven  in  intermingled  multitudes 
Thai  swing,  each  in  his  destined  circuit,  shall 
For  his  own  dear  image  in  the  human,  care. 
Or  far  to  the  West,  lead  their  inquiring  stepfr 
Where  stand,  like  surly  sentinels  to  guard 
The  outposts  of  existence,  many  a mass 
Of  huge  and  heaving  rock,  inpenetrable ; 
Whose  awful  feet,  in  adamantine  depths. 

Are  stayed  ; yet  thei'e,  within  those  mighty 
depths 

XJnfathomed,  that  eloquent  Invisible 
Abideth  ; which  the  gay  forget  and  fools 
Deny  in  vain;  but  which  in  milder  hours 
Of  purer  being,  stands  confessed  in  all 
The  0])en  beauty  of  His  eloquen('e. 

And  like  the  bird  escaped  the  prison  bars 
Of  its  long-loathed  cage,  flies  straight  against 
The  sun,  the  spirit  of  this  prison-house 
Of  clay  still  anxious  waits  the  fatal  stroke 
That  unbars  the  gruesome  gate  and  the  cap- 
tive soul 

Sets  fre  *,  that  joyously  on  silent  wings, 
Retires,  through  milder  gales  to  beat  it 
flight; 

And  blissful  soar  in  that  deep-raptured  realm. 


POEMS. 


6L 


Nor  is,  nor  earth  was  ever  meant  for  thine 
Eternal  sad  abode — earth  claims  her  own, 
But  Heav’n  requires  tl»e  rest.  Her  peacful 
vales ; 

Her  lakes;  her  verdant  fields;  and  deserts 
wild, 

Of  vast  untreasnred  ores;  lier  ancient  woods 
That  majestic  in  their  solitudes  have  reigned 
For  ages;  her  lifeless  wastes,  and  ocean’s 
broad 

Expanse,  whose  depths  the  finny  tribes 
ti’averse 

And  treasures  lie,  were  made  for  thee  to  tread 
Upon;  and  in  themselves,  to  spurn  beneath 
A hastening  heel  for  broader  vision — this, 
But  the  listless  infant  of  a greater  world; 
The  grub-state  of  a loftier  being. 

This,  shalt  thou  only  tread  upon  and  in 
A liigher  and  etheral  atmosphere, 

Shalt  move  and  wake  thy  natural  being. 

And  when  this  mortal  round  of  sombre  care 
Is  wrought,  wrapt  in  the  radiant  folds  of  that 
Propitious  robe,  homeward  thy  happy  way, 
To  lead,  this  mortal  mold  that  shakles  thee, 
Asid  binds  the  fiuttering  impulse  of  a pure 
And  higher  being,  thou  shalt  disdain,  and  in 
Due  season,  calm  resign,  and  willingly; 

To  leave  its  present  precincts  where  sharp 
frosts 


62 


POEMS. 


And  winds  untimely  blast  the  spirit’s  growth  ; 
And  caught  from  that  gloomy  gulf’s  nether 
domain, 

Shall  soar,  at  last,  in  that  untainted  and 
Clear  ether,  where  no  hoary  night  broods  o’er 
Its  depths;  but  warmed  by  the  golden  light, 
of  an 

Eternal  sun,  thou  long  shall  bask  in  balm, 
All  uiicreaied,  of  a calm,  eternal  noon. 


SLAVERY. 

Arise,  stern  guardian  of  our  land. 
And  stretch  thy  awful  hand, 
From  shore  to  shore  ; 

And  grasp  that  venomed  curse. 
Of  hell-hound  pests,  the  nurse,. 
That  plague  us  sore. 

And  from  our  sickened  sight,, 
Remove  this  hell-born  blight, 

For  ever  more; 

’Till  the  last  traitor  stand 
Chained  on  thy  bleeding  strand,^ 
And  trembling  sore. 

Freed  from  the  tyrant’s  claim. 
And  his  hard  servile  chain. 

Firm,  may  we  still  remain  ; 

Our  strength  restored. 


POEM.^. 


GB: 


Thou,  our  avenger  be  ; 

Union  and  liberty, 

Forever,  one  in  thee, 

Our  peace  afford; 

While  empires  stand  in  awe, 

Of  freedom’s  light  and  law, 
Forever  more. 

And  when  the  clouds  of  war 
Bedim  our  nation’s  star. 
Regardless,  stand  thou  not  afar — 
Still  reigning  o’er. 

Loud,  let  the  tempests  rage ! 

Hell,  her  foul  pests  engage  ! 

Thy  words  the  wind  assuage. 
With  quiet  o’er. 

Prom  a dishonored  grave, 
Master  of  wind  and  wave. 

Our  country’s  honor  save, 
Forever  more ; 

And  when  the  storm  is  past. 

Of  cloud  and  reeking  blast, 

Fix  our  ffrm  anchor  fast, 

Upon  the  shore. 


The  author  is  unfortunately  late  in  producing  this  essays 
hut  it  shows,  however,  a clear  and  decided  aversion  to  the 
principles  that  it  opposes ; and,  in  our  humble  opinion,  would* 
probably  have  made  a strong  impression  on  the  public  mind:^ 
if  written  forty  years  ago.  —Publisher. 


154 


POEMS. 


YON  DREARY  MOOR* 


I. 

The  rising  moon  is  on  the  mead, 

Yon  stormy  moor,  yon  dreary  moor  ; 
The  wind  now  breaks,  with  angry  heed, 
Across  it  sore,  across  it  sore . 


II. 

Yet  dearer  far  than  sunny  plains. 

Yon  lonely  moor,  yon  dreary  moor  ! 
For  there  my  lovely  lassie  reigns, 

So  sweet  and  pure,  so  sweet  and  pure. 

III. 

'The  richest  scenes  of  distant  skies. 
Cannot  compare,  cannot  compare, 
With  the  glory  of  her  beaming  eyes. 

So  bright  and  fair,  so  bright  and  fair. 


IV. 

The  constant  laws  of  earth  and  air 
Are  not  so  sure,  not  half  so  sure. 

As  tlie  pledgings  of  her  bosom  fair, 

So  sweet  and  pure,  so  sweet  and  pure. 

v. 

Theblushings  of  the  morning  ray. 

Or  waking  light,  or  waking  light 
Were  far  more  drear,  with  her  away. 
That  darkest  night,  than  darkest  night. 


POEMS. 


65 


SUNRISE. 

Hail,  liappy  roorii,  that  com’st,  with  kind- 
ling grace, 

A slumbering  world  and  sorrowful,  to  bless ; 
That  loyest  the  infant  day  to  fondly  press. 
And  showT  tli}^  kisses  o’er  his  laughing  face. 
From  thy  native  seat  of  light,  thou  com’st 
to  chase. 

In  thy  angelic  rage,  the  brooding  night. 
To  his  dark  cell ; and  spread  thy  peaceful 
light, 

Over  a troubled  world  ; while  man  his  place 
Of  various  toil  and  care,  doth  now  regain; 
And  all  the  world  is  waking  with  a sense 
Of  duty.  O,  holy  light,  if  can’t’st  remain. 
To  bless  us  with  thy  native  innocence, 

Within  our  hearts,  renew  the  blissful  tide. 
Our  paths  to  lighten  and  our  feet  to  guide. 


AGE-A  SKETCH. 

‘‘The  world’s  at  fault,’'  and  on  his  cane. 

The  old  man  rested  his  head  again; 

“ The  hope  of  youth,  that  bore  me  up. 
Has  left  but  the  foam  in  pleasure’s  cup, 
And  in  the  heart  sad  tears.” 

Here  ’rose  a sigh  from  his  heavy  breast, 
Hard  with  the  cares  of  age  oppressed. 

And  the  loneliness  of  years. 


€6 


POEMS. 


‘‘  Is  this  the  common  fate  of  all  ? 

And  doth  no  happier  ere  befall 
The  old  man  than  existence  ? 

O,  what  a luckless,  false  mirage^ 

This  reaching  after  lofty  stars, 

Against  a world’s  resistance! 

And  yet,  what  is  that  pean  strain, 

I hear  so  oft,  but  list  in  vain. 

With  this  dull  comprehension  ? 

Though  age  is  there,  peace  doth  attend; 
Hope  is  renewed,  and  that  great  end, 

We  dread  with  so  sharp  apprehension, 

That  hope  renews,  that  peace  supplies. 
That  strength  affords,  that  end  defies. 
With  all  its  weird  grimaces. 

’Tis  Heav’n  ’s  the  spark  that  strikes  the 
flame. 

That  lights  this  dark  and  earthly  frame. 
With  all  her  angel  faces.” 


ASPIRATION. 

“The  famous  cry  for  obscurity  ; 
The  obscure  cry  for  fame  ; 
And  where  ere  you  go, 

In  this  world  of  woe, 

'^i'he  murmur  is  the  same.” 


POEMS. 


67 


TO  A HARVEST  MOUSED 

I. 

Poor  little  helpless  thing  I 
What  pain  do  I bring 
By  this  unaimed  sting  ! 

Thy  wee  breast  tells 
What  terror  swells 
Tliy  fearful  heart  with  pain. 

II. 

How  frail,  thy  trembling  form 
Pierced  by  this  cruel  thorn ! 

Fierce  is  the  raging  storm 
Thy  shortened  cries  reveal ; 
Truly,  I deeply  feel 
This  hard  and  cruel  harm. 

III. 

Foot  and  fork  Fve  closely  guarded; 
Thus  has  fate  sorely  rewarded 
All  the  care  for  thee,  Fve  hoarded, 
And  thy  timid  weal ; 

That  now  with  heartless  steel. 
Our  injured  friendship ’s  bordered. 


’ The  occasion  of  writing  this  poem  was  one  day  while  in 
the  harvest  field,  the  tine  of  my  fork  was  accidently  thrust 
through  the  body  of  a little  harvest  mouse.  Its  little  shrieks 
of  agony  were  so  piteously  painful  as  to  solicit  the  keenest 
touch  of  human  sympathy.  And  as  1 knelt  down  over  the 
little  creature,  struggling  so  hopelessly  for  its  unoffending 
life,  the  above  thoughts  formulated  themselves  into  expres- 
sion. 


68 


POEMS. 


IV. 

Soon  110  more  beside  thy  nest, 

Walls  and  ceilin^f  snugly  pressed, 
Daisies  bend  tlieir  nodding  crest. 

To  the  rising  sun 
Or  sinking  one, 

For  lo  ! thou  art,  now,  at  rest, 

V. 

Nor  on  the  grass,  the  dew 
Shall  gleam  at  morn  for  you ; 

No  more  shall  skies  be  blue. 

Nor  sun  shall  shine 
Nor  weeds  entwine 
For  thee  to  wander  through. 

VI. 

What  miser  nipping,  knaving. 

What  niggard,  wildly  raving, 

Would  do  thee  harm  for  saving 
His  unhappy  store, 

Loses  that  and  doubly  more, 

With  Heaven’s  smile  for  all  his  slaving. 


O,  FORTUNE’S  BLAST, 

I. 

O,  Fortune’s  blast  now  sweeps  me  past, 
With  angry  sighs  and  surly,  O ; 

My  friends,  they  all  now  crowd  the  wall, 
And  that’s  unchristian  surely,  0, 


POEMS. 


69 


II. 

Yet  wealth  may  flee  and  friends,  to  sea ; 

I’ll  ne’er  grow  sad  and  weary,  O, 
While  the  lass,  I love  ail  else  above, 

Is  aye  so  sweet  and  cheery,  O. 

HI. 

Ye  anxious  watching  powers  above. 
That  joy  in  scenes  of  virtuous  love, 

Can  ye  not  weep  for  pity,  O ? 

O,  snatch  from  her  pale  Want’s  alarms. 
And  bless  these  lonely  waiting  arms. 
With  all  I love,  my  Kitty,  O, 


O,  MEMORY  DREAR. 

I. 

Now  the  wee  swallows  twitter  about  the  nest, 
Or  skim  o’er  the  daisied  meadows; 

While  the  wearied  sun  pales  low  in  the  west 
And  settles  the  gloom  and  the  shadows. 

II. 

And  the  slender  moon  drops  out  of  the  sight 
And  hope  in  this  breast  is  sinking; 

For  the  gloom  comes  on  with  the  gathering 
night, 

And,  aye,  of  the  past  I’m  thinking. 

III. 

Ye  distant  joys,  forever  gone, 

Ye  may  wring  this  sad  heart  ever; 

But  while  life  shall  cling  to  this  achingbreast 
I can  forget  ye,  never. 


70 


POEMS. 


IV. 

I think  on  ye,  and  I could  weep. 

And  a light  flashes  up  in  the  shadow; 
Then  returns  the  gloom  and  the  brooding 
deep, 

And  all’s  more  dark  and  sad,  O. 

V. 

liike  the  sudden  glare  of  the  mid-night  flash 
Strikes  out  on  the  gloom  and  the  night,  O; 
Tlien  returns  the  dark  and  the  thunderous 
crash, 

And  no  more  hope  of  the  light,  O. 


FORSAKEN. 

I. 

Kow  the  wee  daisies  bloom  in  the  flowery 
vales. 

And  the  lambkins  bleat  over  the  meadow ; 
And  the  little  birds,  telling  their  love-born 
tales. 

Flit  by  in  the  sun  and  shadow. 

II. 

But  I am  sad  and  all  alone, 

And  sighing  for  my  lover; 

Yet  I may  weep  and  sigh  and  moan. 

But  he’ll  return  to  me,  never. 

III. 

For  he  has  found  a fairer  love — 

But  is  her  heart  more  kind  and  true  ? 

I would  do — what  would  I not  ? — 

For  the  love  I bear  for  you,  for  you. 


POEMS. 


71 


IV. 

Ye  Heav’n  of  loves,  ye  mocking  bliss, 
That  smile  on  me  so  sore,  so  sore; 
I’m  for  a brighter  world  than  this, 
For  I can  bear  no  more,  no  more. 


YE  LITTLE  FLOWERS. 

I. 

Ye  little  flovv’rs,  that  bloom  so  fair, 
And  gaily  deck  the  meadows  sweet, 
Ye  are  so  pure  so  free  from  care. 

To  see  you,  is  a bonny  treat. 

II. 

Yet  as  I look  on  ye,  my  heart 
With  aching  grief  is  swelling; 

And  all  unbidden,  rise  and  start 
Fond  thoughts,  too  sad  for  telling, 
III. 

I gaze  on  ye,  and  I could  weep, 

Ye  mind  me  of  my  dearie  ; 

Now  sad  and  lone  is  her  silent  sleep; 
And  O,  this  fond  heart  is  weary. 


THE  SAILOR’S  HOME. 

I. 

Now  the  waning  moon  drops  out  of  the  west> 
Nor  more  shall  cheer  the  lonely  night,  O ; 
And  my  true  lover’s  far  abreast 

On  distant  seas  and  lost  to  sight,  O. 


72 


POEMS. 


II. 

On  angry  seas  and  lost  to  sight, 

By  howling  gale  and  tempest  driven  ; 
With  thoughts  of  home  and  peaceful  light, 
I know  his  lonely  heart  is  riven. 

III. 

Where  ere  he  roams,  his  aching  breast 
Will,  aye,  for  Ids  sweet  home  be  pining; 
For  the  little  ones,  he  loves  tiie  best, 

And  the  love-liglits,  for  him  shining. 

IV. 

Thou  withering  orb,  haste  thy  return ! 

And  with  thee,  bring  our  dearie,  O; 

No  matter  then  if  ne’er  ye  burn, 

No  night  will  ere  be  dreary,  O. 


STORM  ON  GALILEE.’ 

Slowly  with  tlie  sun  departing 
From  the  shores  of  Galilee, 

In  a flood  of  glory  starting 
On  the  bosom  of  the  sea. 

Sprang  a vessel  sprightly  hounding 
O’er  the  long  waves  deep  and  blue; 

While  from  the  fainting  distance  sounding, 
vSoiigs  upon  the  billows  blew. 

* With  a few  exceptions,  I have  left  these  purile  verses 
in  their  original  simplicity  and  inelegance  that  inexperi- 
ence and  lack  of  culture  has  besmeared  them,  being  one  of 
jny  very  early  efforts. 


POE^^S. 


7 a 


Scarce  from  land,  tlie  sailors  gladly 
Flapping  sail  and  rigging,  gave 

To  tlie  wind  that  stirring  madly 
Moved  to  foam  the  sportive  wave. 

TIP  quiet  harbor  soon  had  vanished 
In  the  pleasures  of  the  sea; 

Peevish  fears  and  care  were  banished 
In  their  native,  nautic  glee. 

Plied  she  well,  their  gallant  vessel, 
Straining  eager  in  her  course ; 

While  tlie  climbing  sailors  wrestle 
With  the  gale  now  growing  hoarse. 

Slow,  the  silent  moon  ascended 
O’er  the  rolling,  roaring  tide, 

Like  a gracious  queen  attended. 

By  radiant  myriads  at  her  side ; 

Yet  the  loveliness  that  crowned  her, 

Mid  the  grandeur  of  the  night. 

Threw  a misty  mantle  round  her. 

Like  a robe  of  satin  white. 

Soon  a sombre  shroud  o’er  spread  her, 
Veiling  queen  and  courtiers  gay  ; 

While  the  vessel,  laboring  led  her 

Passage  through  the  boisterous  spray^ 

High  and  heavy  heaved  each  billow ; 

And  the  vessel  rooked  and  rolled, 


74 


POEMS. 


Like  a babe  on  sleepless  pillow, 

In  a fever  uncontrolled. 

Banks  of  darkness,  dense,  menacing, 
Frowning,  rose  beneath  her  feet  ; 

Swaying  each  his  sceptre,  chasing, 
Flashing,  furious,  lierce  and  fleet. 

Winds  unbridled  fiercely  wrangle. 

For  the  struggling  prize  and  frail  ; 

Making  of  the  mast  a mangle, 

And  a tangle  of  the  sail. 

Careless  glee  and  sportive  laughter. 

In  the  pleasures  of  the  sea. 

Faded  fast  and  fearful,  after 
Terror  followed  jollity. 

On  the  shore,  the  songs  no  longer 
Resonant  and  merry  rise ; 

But  a weary  wailing,  stronger. 

Of  their  danger-driven  ties. 

In  a mountain,  nearer  Heaven — 

Where  the  watch  is  still  and  lone — 

With  the  darkness  of  eleven. 

Like  a garment  round  Him  thrown, 

Prayed  our  ‘ Blessed  Lord,’  there  kneelin|^ 
To  the  Father  of  all  light ; 

Who  in  tenderness  was  feeling 
All  the  terror  of  the  night. 


POEMS. 


7B 


Prayed  He  there,  amid  the  quiet, 

And  the  stillness  of  the  hour, 

For  His  dole  of  Heavenly  diet, 

And  His  Father’s  love  and  power. 

Fully  satisfied,  prayer  ending, 

Hastened  the  ‘ Heavenly  Host  ’ away^. 

And — the  mountain  He  descending — 
Sped  unto  their  native  day. 

Black,  the  niglit,  the  clouds  mix  madly; 
Fishers’  wives  along  the  shore 

Left  the  lonely  candles  sadly 

Flickering  all  the  dread  night  o’er. 

He,  our  Lord,  across  tlie  ocean, 

Kenned  the  darkness  o’er  the  sea; 

Saw  the  shij),  amid  commotion. 

Tumbling  over  Galilee. 

Ship  and  sailor  weary  growing. 

As  waves  were  heaving  mountain  high. 

Seemed  like  a willow  helpless  blowing 
’Neath  a mountain  in  the  sky. 

Then  as  on  the  crest  she  wavered, 

Like  impending  rock  or  cliff, 

Gallantly  the  sailors  labored 

Lest  their  bark  should  hell-vvard  drift 

Wasting  with  the  waves,  she  drifted 
To  engulfing  de2}ths  below; 


76 


POE^^S. 


Slowly  her  bruised  beak  slie  lifted, 

As  she  rose  a feeble  foe. 

Then  as  on  the  top  she  rested, 

O’er  the  waters  far  away, 

Sailors  saw  the  billows  crested 
With  the  light  of  dawning  da}^; 

Some  supposing  it  a spirit. 

Or  a demon  from  below, 

fn  affright,  gave  way  to  fear  it, 

As  a fiend  or  fatal  foe. 

Others  deeming  it  the  morning 
Or  the  messenger  of  day. 

Banished  maddened  fear  and  mourning. 
Ceding  hope  a brighter  sway. 

Suddenly,  as  if  it  lightened. 

All  the  sea  was  bathed  in  light ; 

As  th’  approaching  vision  brightened — 
Now  half  human,  spectral  sight. 

Swiftly  o’er  the  waters,  winding, 

Of  the  boisterous  sea,  it  sped  ; 

Breathing  terror  with  it,  binding 
All  aghast  with  mortal  dread. 

Near  and  nearer  drew  the  vision, 

O’er  the  script-like  billows  blue; 

Wrapt  in  robes  of  light  elisian, 

Toward  the  enchanted  vessel  drew. 


POEMS. 


77 


Mid  dismay,  the  sailors  trembled, 

Each  the  other’s  terror  read  ; 

111  each  fearful  face  assembled, 

Anxious  hope  and  pallor  spread. 

Hardy  hearts  dissolved  to  water  ; 
Boisterous  billows  broad  and  steep 

Rolled  the  vessel  wild,  and  caught  her 
Madly  tumbling  o’er  tiie  deep. 

Mid  the  tumult  and  commotion 
Of  the  vessel  bounding  wild, 

Helmsman  left  bis  stern  devotion. 

Like  a thoughtless,  frightened  child. 

Oarsmen  wandered  from  their  duty. 

Idle  left  the  loosened  oar  ; 

Ruin  almost  grasped  her  booty 
At  destruction’s  open  door. 

Such  a guest  of  light  celestial, 

Mid  the  darkness  of  the  hour, 

Fear  compelled  and  terror  bestial. 

To  enlist  their  perilous  power. 

In  an  attitude  deploring, 

Prone  upon  the  vessel’s  floor, 

Christian,  Pagan,  Jew  imploring 
Beat  upon  his  altar’s  door. 

Hands  outstretched  in  prayer  entreating, 
Each  his  God  and  idol  prayed 


78 


POEMS. 


To  deliver  them  from  meeting. 
Death,  in  his  destructive  raid. 

Suddenly  the  darkness  faded 

Into  the  light  of  the  lovely  moon  ; 

All  the  twinkling  stars  were  laded 
With  the  sweetness  of  the  noon; 

Billows  bold,  like  ripples,  trembled® 
O’er  the  bosom  of  the  sea  ; 

Quiet  lovliness  assembled, 

Over  lovely  Galilee, 

As  in  tender  tones  the  Master 
Of  the  mountain,  storm  and  sky, 

Spoke,  in  pity  of  a pastor: 

‘‘  Peace,  be  not  afraid,  ‘fcis  I.’’ 


LINES  ON  BIRTH  OF  NIECE* 

I. 

Sweet  little  helpless  one, 
Thou’s,  with  the  waking  sun, 
An  unknown  day  begun, 
o sweetly  blest. 

II. 

O,  may  misfortune’s  grasp 
Ne’er,  on  thy  tender  breast, 
Be  laid,  as  so  cruel  wast 
On  mine  and  sore ; 


I'OEMS. 


79 


But  many  a cherished  smile 
Linger  on  thee  the  while; 

And  care  and  grief  exile, 

For  joys  the  more. 

III. 

Over  life’s  restless  sea, 

Bright  may  thy  voyage  be ; 

And  in  yon  harbor  see 
Thy  distant  rest. 

IV. 

Strong  be  the  ship  ^^ou  sail, 

Kind  every  driving  gale; 

True  may  your  guide  prevail 
Till  yonder  shore, 

In  peaceful  calm,  you  reach; 
There  on  tlie  sunny  beach, 
Through  smootlier  seas  to  stretch. 
For  ever  more. 


HOW  SWEET  YE  BLOOM  I 

I. 

How  sweet  ye  bloom,  ye  flow’ry  vales. 
As  ye  were  aye  so  cheery  ; 

As  Winter  ne’er  with  howling  gales. 
Swept  down  ye,  O,  so  dreary. 

II. 

The  swallows  wanton  through  the  eve. 
With  twittering  never  weary  ; 

While  I am  sad  and  left  to  grieve. 

In  absence  of  my  dearie. 


80 


POEMS. 


HI. 

Ye  memories  of  departed  years, 

Ye’re  over  kind  for  pity; 

Ye  sear  the  heart,  with  unshed  tears — 
A sweet  forgotten  ditty. 


''TO  A SLEEPING  DRUNKARD. 

I. 

Sick,  senseless  sleeper,  art  thou  he, 

But  yesterday,  whose  infancy 
Was  basked  in  beams  of  charity  ! 

Wiiom  a fond  heart  nursed 
And  oft  rehearsed 

Her  joys,  her  hopes  and  prayers  for  thee. 

II. 

Alt  thou  that  happy  lad,  who  bade 
That  drooping  fiowT  rise,  when  the  shade 
Of  grief  fell  dark  and  chill  ? And  happy  made 
Her  anxious  heart. 

Whose  every  part 
Of  care,  upon  thy  weal,  was  laid. 

III. 

Art  thou  that  youth  that  stood  so  strong, 

In  Heaven’s  light;  thy  path  along, 

That  lit  ihe  way  througli  life’s  mad  throng  ; 
Burnished  the  right. 

With  radiant  light. 

And  marked  full  well,  the  monstrous  wrong  ? 


POEMS. 


81 


IV. 

Art  thou  that  true,  when  somber  Death 
Breathed  on  her  lips  that  chilling  breath. 
That  charged  full  well  thy  plighted  breast,^ 
With  Heaven’s  strength, 

And  thine,  at  length, 

To  crown  her  long  eternal  rest  ? 

V. 

Ma}^  Heav’n  forbid  her  ravished  sight, 
Supremely  blest  in  realms  of  light, 

Ere  to  behold  this  bitter  blight, 

That  fades  her  flower! 

O,  chill,  the  hour 

That  bade  thee  bloom,  that  ill-starred  nigbt- 

VI. 

But  wake,  for  now  ’tis  courteous  day  ; 
Heav’n  smiles  and  all  the  earth  is  gay  ; 

All  nature,  in  her  sweet  array, 

Invites  to  holy  living  ; 

And  Heaven  itself  is  all-forgiving, 

O,  haste,  and  to  thy  better  self  away. 

VII. 

To  quench  thy  hot  eternal  thirst, 

Heav’n’s  gushing  founts  of  healing  burst 
A soul  may  grovel  in  the  dust, 

And  die  an  angel  yet  ; 

Though  ne’er  so  low,  his  day  star  set. 
May  still  regain  his  native  trust. 


«2 


POEMS. 


DECEMBER. 

I. 

As  now,  my  dear,  with  lonely  eyes, 

Iscan  tliis  bleak  December  ; 

The  clouded  and  the  angry  skies; 

How  can  I but  remember, 

IT. 

Tlie  wooded  knoll,  the  shady  green, 

The  brown  and  sunburnt  heather ; 

The  mooidight  sheen  and  shade  between, 
Where  oft,  we  roved  together  ? 

III. 

But  now,  that  you’re  so  far  away, 

And  I’m  so  sad  and  weary ; 

What  else,  could  nalture  but  decay, 

And  all  the  world  be  dreary  ? 


MY  SAILOR  LAD. 

I. 

T^ature  again  herself  adorns; 

The  wee  birds  warble  mid  the  thorns, 
But  I am  sad  and  weary. 

Ye  little  birds,  ye’re  over  kind; 

Ye  wist  not  that  ye  hurt  my  mind. 

Ye  are  so  sweet  and  cheerjr. 

II. 

For  I am  lone  and  I am  sad. 
Long-parted  from  my  sailor  lad. 

Out  on  a sea  so  dreary. 


POEMS. 


83 


What  pains  my  bosom  more  forlorn, 

I know  his  heart  is  sad  and  torn, 

With  longings  for  his  dearie. 

III. 

Ye  powers  above, whose  anxious  care 
Delights  in  human  grief  to  share, 

Watch  ye  around  my  dearie  1 
O,  ward  him  safe  from  Death’s  alarms, 

And  bring  him  back  to  these  waiting  arms; 
And  then,  I’ll  ne’er  be  dreary. 


'LIBRE  CUBA/i 

Bold  tides  of  cruel  carnage,  murd’ring 
thunder’s  roar. 

Devouring  flames  of  fury  sweep  our  ravished 
shore; 

From  gushing  gores  and  cruel,  to  Thee, 
the  dying  call. 

For  Thou,  O,  Father  God,  art  good  and 
over  all  ; 

To  Thee,  when  all  things  human  fail  and  find 
an  end. 

Good  ship  of  Peace  and  Freedom  to  our 
harbor  send. 


’Again,  we  lament  the  late  date  of  publishing  this  essay. 
Although  there  is  nothing  of  timerity  expressed  throughout 
it,  yet  we  must  infer  that  his  only  reason  for  not  publishing 
it  before  was  his  being  too  fearful  of  criticism.  However, 
the  extravagant  sentiment  and  pictures  herein  given 
are  only  loo  faithfully  portrayed. — Publisher. 


84 


POEMS, 


Clouds  gather  ; darkness  broods ; brave 
souls  are  palled  with  fear  ; 

Of  present  woes  and  cruel,  great  God  of 
Battles,  hear. 

Our  homes  and  habitation  are  choked  with 
Imnian  gore  ; 

And  truth  seems  all  forgotten  ; is  faith  and 
love  no  more  ? 

Humanity  and  honor  lie  prostrate  on  the 
plain ; 

And  pierced  by  a heartless  villain,  bleed 
at  every  vein. 

Harsh  hands  of  tyranny  the  tongue  of  jus- 
ice,  seize ; 

And  weeping  virtue,  all  in  vain,  presses  the 
coward’s  knees. 

Pale  Death,  in  sombre  trains,  traverse  our 
wasted  lands  ; 

And  leaves  her  crimson  vestige  on  the 
bleeding  sands. 

Cruel  she  rolls  and  ruthless  wheels  her 
gloomy  course, 

Besmeared  with  human  carnage,  led  on  by 
cruel  force. 

And  many  a helpless  victim,  beneath  her 
grating  wheels. 

In  depths  of  dying  anguish,  every  baffle 
feels. 


POEMS. 


85 


Through  threatening  clouds  of  fear,  grope 
our  lame  unpitied  arms, 

While  Dread  and  Impotence  the  fainting 
goul  disarms ; 

If  auglit  of  tender  pity  pass  us  on  the  way, 

Tis  but  the  breath  of  noontide,  lost  in  the 
heat  of  day. 

Her  train,  now  in  the  distance,  leads  a piti- 
ous  trail, 

And  at  the  sight,  souls  tremble,  and  war- 
riors’ blades  turn  pale. 

The  few  who  have  escaped  are  held  by  a 
heartless  power. 

Beneath  whose  stinging  lash  and  steel, 
they  helpless  cower. 

Oppression  all  unfeeling  holds  the  hapless 
land  ; 

And  voiceless  honor  trembles  ’neath  his  iron 
hand. 

Stalwart  he  stalks  across  the  bleeding 
plain  : 

And  at  each  stride,  the  ground  shrieks 
forth  a groan  of  pain. 

O’er  hearts  that  feel  the  human,  he  ruthless 
stalks  along, 

To  join  the  noisy  orgies  of  a savage  throng; 

There  drunken  in  a heathen  temple  wildly 
feasts 


POEMS. 


The  monster,  on  our  children’s  blood, 
warm  from  their  tender  breasts; 

Red,  from^the  crimson  urn,  he  lifts  his  drip- 
ping hands ; 

And  surfeited,  he  shrieks  across  the  weeping 
sands. 

Omnipotent  Jehovah,  now  ])erform  Thy 
name. 

Ere  innocence  be  ruined  in  a parent’s 
shame. 

As  blinding  mists  disperse,  at  the  waking  of 
the  morn ; 

As  noisy  clamors  cease,  beneath  the  echoing 
horn. 

So  drive  forever,  from  our  sad  and  mourn- 
ful shore. 

The  murderous  din  and  mists  that  crimson 
round  us  pour. 

Grild  our  lone  landscape  with  a gleam  of 
that  peaceful  dawn, 

Ere  fostering  hope  be  drowned  in  gloom, 
and  every  charm  be  gone  ; 

Too  long,  humanity  is  torn  with  pains  and 
fears  ; 

O ! touch,  once  more,  the  tender  strain 
that  softens  into  tears. 


POEMS. 


gT 


WASHINGTON. 


All  hail,  our  glorious  chief,  that  timely  came,, 
And  led’stour  embattled  patriots  to  fight  ^ 
And^crowiied’st  their  deeds  with  laurels^ 
of  their  might. 

Forever  thus,  shall  we  adore  thy  name, 

‘‘  Fair  statue  on  the  pedestal  of  fame.” 

Nor  storm  nor  tide  thy  beauty,  shall 
assail ; 

But  succeeding  suns  shall  brighten,  m 
they  sail  ; 

And  in  thy  country’s  love,  art  still  the  same. 
No  French  blood,  this,  that  strove  beyond 
control. 

Insatiate  ardor,  worthy  of  its  end  ; 

Grasped  at  what  most,  his  hand  could 
never  hold — 

A bloody  grave,  his  tribute  to  a friend ; 

But  rather  thou,  mild  shepherd  of  the* 
brave , 

Did’st  risk  thine  own,  thy  country’s  voio^ 
to  save. 


«8 


POEMS. 


AMERICA; 

America,  my  dear,  my  native  soil, 

That  gave  to  liberty  and  justice,  birth  ; 

Land,  where  the  freedrnan  reaps  his  chosen 
toil, 

Nor  frets,  in  chains,  that  gall  a shackled 
earth ; 

Land,  where  the  ]dlgrim  finds  liis  long- 
sought  rest. 

The  world’s  ambition  and  envied  paradise; 

Thou  noble  land,  we  proudly  call  ‘‘the 
best,” 

Whose  praises  in  sweet  concord  ever  rise; 

Stern,  are  the  dangers,  that  upon  thy  peace- 
ful strand. 

Like  palid  specters,  in  lone  mid  might, 
stand. 

Yet,  land  of  light  and  golden  liberty. 

Thou  safe  amid  all  dangers  standest  free; 

What  foe,  presumptuous,  would  dare  to  vie, 

With  Heaven’s  light,  earth’s  proudest 
hope  and  thee  ? 

In  vain,  a hostile  world  ’gainst  thee  would 
strive. 

With  feeble  bands,  thy  conquorer  to  be; 

Heroes  assemble  at  thy  just  command. 


'Written  at  the  begining  of  the  Spanish- American  war 
when  the  United  States  was  threatened  by  the  combined 
forces  of  Europe. 


POEMS. 


89 


Tyrants  and  cowards  turn  dismayed  and 
flee ; 

Brave  myriads,  all  brightly  armed,  stand. 

Before  thee,  hearts  aglow  and  souls  alive. 

With  light  device  and  liberty  and  thee  ; 

Let  tyrants  threaten  and  villians  stain 
Heaven’s  law, 

Kingdoms  shall  tremble  and  kings  shall 
stand  in  awe ; 

And  thou,  fair  land,  the  torch  of  freedom 
bright, 

Shalt  reign,  unrivaled  in  thy  radiant 
light. 

For  thee,  our  warmest  prayers  to  Heaven 
ascend ; 

Warm,  glow  our  hearts,  thee  eager  lo  de- 
fend. 

For  thee,  our  proudest  hopes  still  fondly 
rise  ; 

With  thine,  our  hands  are  clasped  in 
sacred  ties. 

For  thee  our  willing  hearts  would  freely  pour 

Their  warmest  life  blood,  thy  loved  garments 
o’er. 

To  shield  thee  in  the  fight. 


POEMS. 


m 


LAUS  DEO.' 

AN  ODE. 

Lord  of  our  liberty,  won  and  preserved  ; 

Ood  of  our  fathers, ’ honored  and  served; 

Guard  of  our  nation,  we  praise  and  adore. 

Exalted  Thy  name  and  revered  evermore. 

Thanks  for  the  care,  Thou  hast  kept  when 
most  needed  ; 

Care  that  sustained  in  the  midst  of  the 
fight. 

Thanks  for  the  strength.  Thou  hast  proved 
which  we  pleaded. 

Power,  that  maintained  the  dread  stand- 
ard of  right. 

We  know  the  hand  that  points  our  path  so 
true, 

In  this  land  of  light,  from  death  and 
dangers  through  ; 

And  long  may  the  light  of  Thy  presence 
devine. 

O’er  a worshiping  people  in  liberty,  shine. 

Well  might  Israel  chant  Thy  omnipotent 
name, 

At  the  alter,  and  priests  touch  the  Heavenly 
flame  ; 

For  Thou  went’st  before  them,  to  spend 
vthe  foe ; 


Written  at  the  close  of  the  Spanish- American  war. 


POEMS. 


91 


Thou  marshaled’st  their  journey;  Thou 
dealPst  tlie  blow, 

That  brought  us  our  freedom,  our  cause, 
our  name  ; 

The  ‘ Idol  of  Nations,’  imperishable  fame. 

Yet  ours,  be  the  message,  and  Thine,  be 
the  glory. 

Till  Kingdoms  shall  crumble  and  Time 
shall  turn  hoary. 


THOU  LITTLE  BIRD. 


I. 

Thou  little  bird,  on  yonder  bush. 

That  sweetly  wakes  the  morning  ; 

Thou’lt  break  my  heart,  with  songs  so  sweet. 
The  arts  of  nature  ’doming. 

II. 

Thou  minds  me  of  a silent  voice. 

That  once  as  sweetly  warbled  ; 

Thou  tells  of  joys,  forever  gone, 

And  of  a heart,  sore  troubled. 

III. 

And  could  I now,  with  days  of  yore. 

Recall  a nameless  pleasure  ! 

But,  O,  she’s  gone,  forever  more. 

My  sweetheart  and  my  treasure. 


92 


POEMS. 


IV. 

And  thou  too,  gone,  tliou  boiiuy  bird  ? 

And  why  so  soon  departed? 

When  thy  wee  breast’s  so  sweetly  blest. 
To  soothe  tlie  broken-hearted  ? 


Sense  makes  the  humorist  ; 
The  want  of  it,  tlie  fool.” 


FAIR  MOLLY  TWEED* 

I. 

O,  tlie  strawberry  blows,  by  tlie  brook,  in 
the  mead  ; 

For  nectar,  the  bee  roams  tiie  lea ; 

Yet  fairer  than  flowers,  is  my  own  Molly 
Tweed, 

And  sweeter  than  nectar  of  bee. 

II. 

In  a shadowy  nook,  by  a bend  in  the  way^ 
Her  little  cot  may  be  seen  ; 

Yet  empire’s  palace,  all  gilded  and  gay. 
Never  sheltered  a worthier  queen. 

III. 

As  light  as  the  lambkins,  that  gambol  the 
morning ; 

As  sweet  as  the  lark,  that  sings  o’er  the  lea ; 
All  nature’s  arts,  to  perfection  adorning. 

Fall  sweetest  on  her,  that  is  dearest  to  me* 


POEMS. 


93 


IV. 

O ! riclies  and  honor,  the  world  may  deny  me ; 

I covet  them  not,  for  they  only  betray. 

In  one  little  hour,  she  will  ever  be  nigh  me, 
And  then  'twill  be  Heaven,  with  Molly  for 
aye. 


WRITTEN  IN  A TIME  OF  DISCONTENT 
AND  WANDERING- 

Now  beauteous  nature 
Her  fair  self  arrays; 

And  over  the  landscape 
And  vale,  lightly  plays. 

There’s  mirth  in  her  measure, 

There  is  joy  in  her  play  ; 

But  what  is  all  pleasure 
When  one’s  far  away 
From  the  friends  of  his  bosom ; 

And  sadly  must  rove 
From  the  land  of  his  liking 
And  the  fair  of  his  love  ? 

When  the  heart  beats  with  anguish 
And  falls  the  sad  tear, 

And  the  soul  can  but  languish 
For  scenes  once  so  dear  ? 


94 


POEMS. 


THOU  BOBOLINK. 

I. 

Thou  Bobolink,  that  sings  so  blithe  o'er  the 
leas, 

“ Give  over  your  songs  for  pity,  O;" 

Thou  minds  me  of  the  happy  days, 

I spent  with  thee  and  Kitty,  O. 

II. 

’Twas  never  thus,  thou  sang  so  sad, 

When  I was  with  my  dearie,  O; 

'Twas  only  joy,  thy  numbers  had, 

And  hours  were  ne’er  so  dreary,  O. 

III. 

‘ Twas  never  thus,  thou  grieved  my  heart;. 

Nor  filled  me  thus,  with  anguish,  O ; 

Now  grief  alone,  thou  dost  impart. 

And  lost ’s  my  soul,  to  languish,  O. 

IV. 

Beneath  the  oak,  beside  the  hill, 

She  promised  to  be  my  dearie,  O;. 

But  now  her  heart  is  so  cold  and  still. 

How  can  I be  but  weary,  O ? 


NOW  WILDLY  RAVES. 

I. 

Now  wildly  raves  the  woods  of  winter, 
Neath  the  mad  and  driving  cloud. 
And  wildly  sweeps  the  tempest  toiling,,. 
In  angry  blasts  and  loud. 


POEMS. 


9^^ 


n. 

And  grief  now  breaks  my  heart  to  languish 
O,  Death,  thy  cruel  dart! 

Now  I must  still  live  on  in  anguish 
Of  a lone  and  fainting  heart. 

HI. 

For  joy  is  gone  from  me  forever, 

Forever  and  for  aye  ; 

For  in  the  church  yard  sleeps  my  lover;. 
There,  too,  I soon  shall  lay. 


ALICE. 


I. 

Sweet  Alice,  thy  name 
In  the  passionate  flame 

Of  the  furious,  ravishing  fire, 

Tliat  within  this  breast. 

At  Heaven’s  behest, 

Is  fed,  by  immortal  desire  I 

II. 

When  the  wind  breaks  cold. 

And  the  day  wanes  old. 

Then  its  embers  are  glowing  the  longer 
When  my  heart  would  fail. 

Or  harsh  fortune  bewail. 

Then,  inspiring,  it  rises  the  stronger.. 


m 


PvOEMS 


III. 

0 ! for  once,  to  own 
The  sweet  tender  tone 

Of  a soul,  that’s  so  gentle  and  mild  ! 

How  glad  in  the  rapture, 

Fd  yield  to  the  capture 

And  move,  with  its  melody  wild  ! 

IV. 

Has  Heaven  forbidden  ; 

Or  hast  thou  but  hidden 

The  friendship  I feel  so,  between  us? 

By  all  that  is  fair, 

1 promise  and  swear, 

There’s  naught,  from  our  love,  that  shall 
wean  us. 

v. 

Long  in  silence  adoring. 

Thy  virtue  exploring, 

I’ve  waited  nor  dared  I,  to  break  it; 

But  now,  like  a dream, 

A vague  something  doth  seem, 

Within,  to  arise  and  awake  it. 

VI. 

And  if  thou  wilt  fire 
This  kindling  desire, 

And  give  the  fond  welcome  to  me  ; 
Supremely  blest. 

With  love  I’ll  rest, 

In  sweet  content  with  thee. 


Yet  if  lonely  and  lost, 

All  aimless  Fm  tost, 

To  wander  life’s  restless  main. 

May  Heaven’s  kind  wand, 

To  yon  glittering  strand, 

Guide  safe,  through  the  billows  of  pain. 

vm. 

And  perhaps,  on  that  shore, — 

Where  partings  are  o’er, — 

As  I wander  the  realms  of  the  blest. 
Thy  like  I may  find — 

So  gentle  and  kind — 

But  in  no  other  place,  can  it  rest. 


O,  SAD,  THE  DAY. 

I. 

Now  drearily  the  sad  rain  falls. 

On  grassy  hill  and  furrowed  lea; 

Wiiile  I am  sad,  for  my  sailor  lad 
Is  far  away  from  me. 

n. 

Still  falls  the  show’r,  on  blade  and  flow’rj^ 
All  withered  by  an  early  frost ; 

And  beneath  the  wave,  in  a watery  grave^ 
My  faithful  sailor  lad  is  tossed. 


98 


POEMS. 


III. 

O,  sad,  the  day  he  went  away, 

From  home  and  from  his  lover  ; 

For  she  must  weep  and  he  must  sleep, 
In  silence  now  forever. 


TO  A BIRD  TWITTERING  PITIFULLY  AT 
MIDNIGHT. 

I. 

Thou  little  bird  tliat  breaks  the  night. 

With  notes  of  thy  unliappy  plight. 

What  pains  thy  little  bosom  ? 

II. 

Perchance  the  fowler’s  heartless  snare 
Has  reeked  on  thee  his  foul  dispair, 

May  Heav’n  and  mercy  lose  him ! 

III. 

Thy  wee  mate’s  wing  there  caught  and  bled^ 
She  nestles  down  so  cold  and  dead, 

Where  the  little  flowrets  blossom. 

IV. 

Or  was  thy  little  mate  untrue ; 

Hast  hurt  or  sorely  slighted  you, 

To  bring  such  sad  dispairing  ? 

V. 

No  peaceful  sleep  attends  my  rest; 

•While  aching  care  disturbs  thy  breast^ 

Nor  grief  nor  anguish  sparing. 


POEMS. 


99 


VI, 

O,  that  the  power,  that  watches  o’er  us, 
Some  louder  notes  of  grief  would  store  us 
And  save  this  inward  tearing ! 


LINES  ON  SISTER,  WHEN  AT  THE  BRINK 
OF  DEATH. 

In  vain,  ye  wipe  the  falling  tear, 

In  vain,  ye  weep  and  sigh  ; 

’Tis  Heaven  itself  inhabits  here; 

And  angels  never  die. 


ON  SAME  WHEN  STILL  WORSE. 

O,  Thou,  that  metes  our  earthly  bliss, 
If  virtue  move  Tiiee  any; 

Deprive  us  not  of  all  we  love, 

But  spare  us  yet  our  Jennie. 


ON  HEARING  OF  THE  UNNECESSARY 
SLAUGHTER  IN  THE  TRANSVAAL. 

Great  God,  these  erring  mortals ’ve  gone 
too  far, 

That  share  a common  Father’s  love  and 
care! 

Like  beasts  in  the  arena,  tear  each  other 
down, 

And  glory  in  the  mischief  they  have  done. 


100 


POEMS, 


BRING  BACK  MY  DARLING  TO  ME. 

I. 

Thou  moon  that  looks  over  the  mountain, 
Thou  moon  that  looks  over  the  sea, 

Thou  moon  that  looks  over  the  mountain, 
Bring  thoughts  of  rny  darling  to  me; 

The  thought  that  he  ever  is  faithful. 

The  thought  that  he’s  happ^^  and  free; 

S\v(‘et  thought  that  he  ever  is  thinking, 
And  ever  is  thinking  of  me, 

II. 

Ye  birds  that  fly  over  the  ocean, 

Ye  birds  that  fly  over  tlie  sea. 

Ye  birds  that  fly  over  the  ocean, 

Bring  news  of  my  darling  to  me. 

Bring  news  that  he  ever  is  sighing. 

And  longing  his  darling  to  see  ; 

Sweet  news  that  he  ever  is  sighing  ; 

And  longing  and  sighing  for  me. 

III. 

Ye  ships  that  sail  over  the  ocean, 

Ye  ships  that  sail  over  the  sea, 

Ye  ships  that  sail  over  the  oceaiv 
O,  bring  back  my  darling  to  me. 

For,  Oh  ! this  sad  heart  is  lonely, 

And  never  from  sighing  is  free; 

Yet  I’d  ever  be  happy  if  only 

Te’d  bring  back  my  darling  to  me. 


POEMS. 


101 


IV. 

Ye  winds  that  blow  over  the  ocean, 

Ye  winds  that  blow  over  the  sea, 

Ye  winds  that  blow  over  the  ocean, 

O,  blow  back  my  darling  to  me, 

O,  spread  o’er  his  sails  your  soft  pinions, 
And  gently  breath  over  the  sea  ; 

O,  spread  o’er  his  sails  your  soft  pinions, 
And  blow  him  back  gently  to  me. 


THE  OLD  BARD^S  LAMENT* 

My  hands  are  stiffened  with  the  cold, 

And  I can  feel  no  more ; 

For  I am  weak  and  I am  old^ 

I can  not  walk  as  yore. 

Come,  kindly  lead  me  to  the  fane. 

Where  fans  that  sacred  fire  ; 

That  I may  warm  that  wistful  strain, 

And  touch  the  soul’s  desire. 

In  youth,  when  love  provoked  the  soul. 

Its  currents  swelling  rose; 

And  harmless  joys  did  happy  roll, 

And  flood,  in  dream’s  repose. 

Then,  through  the  green  and  flowery  grove, 
Wraj)t  ill  the  arms  of  high  delight, 

1 wandered  with  my  lofty  love, 

In  radiant  robes  and  white. 


102 


POEMS, 


And  sang  the  song  our  bliss  expressed — 

So  happy!  So  divine  1 
As  tenderly,  our  joys  confessed 
And  love,  with  mirth,  entwined. 

O,  sweet,  the  influence  of  the  hour 
That  innocent  love  doth  grace  I 
Then  nature  seems  one  budding  flower 
And  earth,  a resting  place. 

Then  morn  awoke,  in  her  beauty  dressed ; 

Noon  basked  in  a lovely  light, 

And  eve  reclined  on  a placid  breast, 

In  the  soft  arms  of  the  night. 

But,  O,  the  stern,  cold  hand  of  age, 

That  love  and  youth  are  past. 

Hath  senseless  chilled  that  noble  rage  ; 

Yet  memories,  aye,  will  last.' 

All  hushed  eve  goes  and  comes  the  dawn, 
But  their  light  is  not  the  same. 

And,  O,  for  the  touch  of  a hand  that  is  gone. 
The  sound  of  a silent  name.’’ 

Sadly,  I yearn  to  yield  the  touch — 

A lone,  unhappy  heart  ; 

Yet,  groping  toward  yon  flickering  torch, 

I hope  the  better  part. 

He  is  not  best,  that  sineth  least. 

But  who  is  most  forgiven  ; 


POEMS. 


103 


This  makes  his  home  with  man  and  beast; 
That  enters  league  with  Heaven. 

Oh,  my  life,  have  we  not  had  roses  bloom,^^ 
When  the  world  was  chilled  to  the  core  ; 
Sweet  rapture,  when  life  without  was  but 
gloom, 

And  shall  they  not  be  any  more  ? 

Let  fickle  fools  presumtuous  say, 

‘‘The  world  estranged  from  love  is;” 

First  know,  what  prompts  the  heart  to  pray 
And  lose  itself  above  us. 

Earth  is  not  all  of  bitter  taste. 

All  lights  are  not  misleading  ; 

Yet  the  meadow  brook  is  first  to  waste, 

And  the  loveliest  flowV,  in  bleeding. 


TO  A WHIPPO-WIL. 

I. 

O,  cease  your  noise,  ye  senseless  lute, 

YeVe  never  seen  my  Kitty ; 

For  one  sweet  look  would  melt  your  note. 
To  pleadings,  full  of  pity. 

II. 

Yet  if  ye'd  share  an  equal  treat, 

But  view  that  lily  yonder; 

A soul  as  pure,  an  eye  as  sweet. 

And  a lady’s  sense  of  honor. 


104 


POEMS. 


III. 

But  though  she’s  sweet,  and  though  she’s 
fair, 

To  me,  she’s  often  cruel ; 

Yet  still.  I’ll  wait  and  still  I’ll  bear. 

To  count  my  precious  jewel. 


TO  AN  OLD  TREE  UPROOTED  BY  A STORM- 

I. 

Hail,  my  old  familiar  friend. 

With  arms  stretched  to  defend 
My  languid  way. 

From  the  heat  of  day, 

Lies  lowly  slain. 

The  tempest’s  wild  storm 
With  stately  form 
Thou  long  hast  braved, 

When  he  loudly  raved 
’Gainst  thee  in  vain ; 

But  now  at  last 

With  a wild  shriek  and  blast 

He  strides  o’er  thy  crest  amain ; 

And  thee,  no  more, 

Shall  he  adore. 

As  he  rides  the  swift  harnessed  plain, 

II. 

I know  each  end 
And  broken  bend. 


POEMS. 


105 


In  the  liollow  iiiider  the  hill; 

Over  field  and  fen 
And  tlie  noisy  glen, 

Where  the  hawks  call  loud  and  shrill,,. 
And  through  thy  bowers, 

Of  the  soft  cooling  hours, 

The  squirrel  oft  chirruped  away; 

And  the  little  bird 

His  sweet  ditty  heard 

And  joined  in  his  happy  lay. 

And  thy  love-weary  swain 
Heart-broken  has  lain 
As  he  languished  to  grief,  a prey, 
"Neath  thy  soothing  shade. 

In  the  plashy  glade, 

And  dreamed  of  his  love  in  the  lane; 

And  the  noisy  brook 

And  the  silent  nook 

Where  he  sought  for  her  hand  in  vain..- 

III. 

And  the  cold  barren  rock 

Shattered,  too,  by  the  shock 

Tliy  state  to  the  brook  doth  deplore; 

O’er  the  quiet  green. 

And  the  silvan  scene, 

Where  pleasure  and  love  are  no  more. 

Alas  that  we, 

Like  unhappy  thee, 

Must  cease  when  but  we  begin  to  be  I 


106 


POEMS. 


IV. 

Oh,  my  soul  awake 
And  the  warning  take ; 

To  arms ! ere  the  conflict  is  past ; 

For  swift  time  will  blow, 

Where,  thou  inayest  not  know, 

Thy  deeds  that  forever  will  last* 
Thou,  too,  art  a tree. 

Of  fair  unity ; 

And  pleasure  or  sorrow  will  cast. 

Thy  branches  sliould’st  raise. 

O’er  the  sad  weary  gaze — 

A solace  and  strengtii  for  the  weak  ; 

Thy  ignoble  roots 

And  dark-seeking  shoots 

Their  native  caverns  should  seek  ; 

There  to  mold  and  to  rust. 

In  oblivion’s  dust, 

No  more  their  mean  summons  to 
speak. 


EXTEMPORE. 

Cursed  be  these  stones  ; 

And  cursed  the  bones 

Of  the  brainless  road  commissioner  ! 
The  Devil  give  ’im  the  task, 

His  roads  to  make, 

And  nobody’ll  ever  travel  ’em. 


These  words  were  justly  provoked  by  an  ill- kept  moun- 
tain  road. 


POEMS. 


107 


FAITH* 

Who  knows  each  uncomplaining  care, 
Each  inner  jo^^,  and  soul’s  despair  ; 
Wlio  knows  each  aching  human  grief, 
Tis  He,  best  knows  for  our  relief, 
Heav’n’s  sweetened  balm  to  bear. 

Why  grieve  then,  troubled  soul  forlorn, 
With  many  burdens  sorly  worn  ? 

The  hand  with  sorrow,  bears  the  down, 
Will  lift  thee  up,  again. 


HYPOCRISY* 

Poor,  is  that  grace  that  eye  can  see. 
Of  lame  and  put-on  holiness; 

Give  me  a man,  whose  heart  is  free 
To  speak  and  act  his  open  part  ; 

A plain  and  honest  man  to  trust, 

Is  all  I ask  for  me* 


OLD  WINTER  NOW* 

Old  Winter  now,  with  surly  frown, 
Drives  o’er  the  hills  full  sorely  ; 
Nature  has  donned  his  icy  gown, 

O I he  must  fare  but  poorly. 

No  wild  bird  cheers  the  lonely  air  ; 

The  sun  half  sinks  from  shining. 
It  paints  too  well  my  soul's  despair, 
8o  dark  and  so  repining. 


108 


POEMS. 


Upon  this  dreary  waste  of  life, 

Too  long,  has  been  my  dwelling  ; 

No  sun  nor  song  but  only  strife. 

With  care  and  anguish  swelling  ; 

Half  sick  of  life,  its  aches  and  care. 
Neglected  and  unknown  ; 

Nor  Heavhi  accepts  my  anxious  prayer, 
Though  it  embrace  the  throne. 

Lean  Povert}^  stands  in  the  door 

And  stares  with  grinning  vengence  ; 

Tis  hell  behind,  and  fear  before. 

With  all  their  racking  engines. 

Wliile  wealth  is  lavished  on  the  air. 
For  some  fond  lordling's  notion  ; 

And  worth  must  wallow  in  dispair. 

And  take  the  swine’s  proportion. 

How  oft  beneatli  the  briar’s  shade. 
Some  delicate  flow’r  is  blasted  ; 

That,  had  the  sun  his  healing  stayed, 
Would  blossom  while  it  lasted. 

Yet  mine  is  but  the  plaintive  cry 
Of  many  another  one. 

Who  lacks  the  Christian  sympathy. 
Beneath  a cliristian  sun  ; 

Mid  walls  of  mocking  cares  to  dwell, 
Unknown  and  sore  neglected  ; 


POEMS. 


10^ 


With  all  the  mental  imps  of  hell, 

Around  us  close  collected. 

Yet,  O ! for  some  deviner  power, 

Within  this  silly  breast; 

To  know  the  way  and  feel  the  hour, 

That  I am  truly  blest. 

Then  from  these  trials,  songs  would  rise^ 
And  hope  spring  from  despair; 

And  in  the  valle}^  leave  behind 
A needless  load  of  care. 


GENTLY  NOW  THE  CLOSING  DAY. 

I. 

Gently  now  the  closing  day 
Folds  its  wearied  wing  to  rest; 

While  I am  sad  and  far  awa}^ 

From  him,  the  one  I love  the  best. 

II. 

Unfold  thy  wing,  O,  setting  Sun, 

And  through  the  azure,  soar  amain; 

Until  thou  findst  my  wandering  one. 

And  bring  him  back  to  me  again. 

m. 

But  now,  thou’rt  gone  ; thy  heavy  eye 
Is  closed  to  rest  and  quiet  sleep; 

While  through  the  gathering  darkness,  I 
Must  still  live  on,  and  watch  and  weep. 


110 


POEMS. 


MEMORY* 

When  the  great  eye  of  day  is  closed  in  quiet 
sleep, 

And  Heaven’s  roof  leaks  drops  of  glitter- 
ing gold, 

Dame  Memory  glides  in  with  musings  deep 

And  at  our  side,  doth  sweet  communion 
hold. 

How  sweet,  to  listen  to  her  stories  old; 

And  dear  forgotten  days  to  live  once  more  ; 

And  warm  our  hands,  to  the  kindly  fire 
that  told 

Some  simple  tale,  sweet  rural  scenes  of  yore, 

Fond  homely  joys  with  Ileav’n  presiding  o*er. 

Where  parental  graces  blessed  the  happy 
hour 

That  prattling  children  thronged  the  hearth 
before, 

Or  climbed  their  grandsire’s  knee  his  praise 
to  share  ; 

And  feel  the  pressure  of  a mother’s  tender 
care; 

Fond  memories  of  home  and  that  lost  hour, 

When  indulgent  Heaven  grants  her  richest 
store. 


POEMS. 


Ill 


LOVERS  REWARD* 

I. 

Beneath  yon  drooping  willow  tree, 

IVe  lingered  long  and  sighed  full  sore, 
For  him,  that  once  was  far  from  me, 

My  soldier  lad,  on  a distant  shore, 

II. 

Fall,  heaved  this  breast,  with  bodings  drear^ 
Of  death  and  dangers  of  the  field; 

But  now,  rny  soldier  lad  is  near, 

To  soothe  my  heart  and  bosom  shield, 

III. 

No  more  shall  thoughts  of  sickening  fear 
This  bosom  rend,  with  bodings  sore ; 

For  now,  my  soldier  lad  is  near, 

And  I am  happy  evermore. 

rv. 

Blow  winds,  your  wildest  blasts  enrage! 

Boom  cannons,  with  your  murdering  roar! 
My  grief  no  longer  ye  engage. 

Nor  sorrow  troubles  any  more. 

V. 

Angels  may  harp,  with  happy  sway, 

And  feast  on  beauty  round  the  throne  ; 
Yet  I am  happier  than  they; 

For  now  my  soldier  lad  is  home. 


112 


POEMS. 


NOW  THE  WEE  BIRDIES  PLAY* 

I. 

^ow  tlie  wee  birdies  play. 

As  the  gentle  winds  swa}^ 

The  rree  tops  so  bright  and  sunny,  O ; 
And  ilieir  little  liearts  beat. 

To  the  melody  sweet, 

For  their  lives  are  so  light  and  bonny,  O. 

n. 

And  their  little  throats  swell, 

With  the  notes,  they  love  well, 

And  their  songs  are  sweet  and  cherry,  O; 
Yet  this  bosom  is  sad, 

Though  theirs  seem  so  glad. 

And  the  day  is  long  and  weary,  O. 

in. 

But  how  else,  could  my  heart  be 
When  so  far,  a party 

Has  wandered  away  from  his  dearie  ? 

I think  on  tiie  ph  a.^ure. 

My  sweetheart  and  treasure. 

And  how  could  my  heart  be  but  weary! 


FAR  OVER  THE  NORTH* 

I. 

^i’ar  over  tlie  North,  on  a mountain  side. 
Where  the  smooth  lakes  dimple  deep  and 
wide; 


POEMS. 


113: 


Where  the  birds  sing  sweet  and  the  soft 
winds  glide, 

And  the  banks  are  bright  and  sunny,  O » 
II. 

Though  the  land  is  poor  and  the  rocks  are 
steep, 

Yet  over  the  moss,  the  ivies  creep; 

And  through  the  grass  the  posies  peep^ 

To  greet  the  day,  so  bonny,  O. 

III. 

Ill  such  a land,  on  such  a side, 

Does  the  idle  of  this  heart  reside. 

Of  all  that  land,  the  life  and  pride ; 

And  the  hope  of  many  a lover. 

IV. 

But  in  one  short  year  when  Spring  returns^ 
And  the  sun  again  on  the  heather  burns; 
But  in  one  short  year  when  Spring  returns,. 
And  she’s  my  own,  forever. 


LAST  EVENING* 


I. 

Last  evening  as  the  sun  went  down 
And  stars  their  watch  were  waking, 
My  heart  received  her  mortal  wound  ; 
This  love-lorn  breast  is  breaking,  O* 


114 


["OEMS. 


II. 

T?was  then,  she  said,  she’d  ne’er  be  mine, 
Nor  longer,  would  she  tarry,  O ; 

My  heart  its  grief  can  ne’er  confine, 

My  sweet  heart  and  my  Carrie,  O, 

III. 

"'Though  I may  mourn,  love’s  bosom  torn, 
To  me  she’ll  ne’er  return,  O ; 

Yet  the  love  I bear,  shall  wither  ne’er, 
But  for  her  ever  burn,  O. 


SPRINGS 

hill  and  wood  and  through  each  slum- 
b’ring  vale. 

Now  maiden  Spring,  with  gentlest  graces, 
trips  ; 

Each  sleeping  flower  presses  to  her  lips. 
And  kisses  it  to  making,  with  some  tale, 
And  pleasant  told,  its  blushes  to  avail ; 

And  while  she  waits,  the  birds  their  notes 
renew; 

"^rhe  skies  grow  mild  and  flow’rs  distill 
their  dew ; 

A?id  soars  on  rising  wing,  the  buxom  gale. 


Composed  on  a most  lovely  morning  in  the  early  spring  of 
"^©8,  while  lying  in  great  pain  ; nature’ s seeming  mockery 
my  misfortune,  produced  in  me  an  unwonted  gloom  of 
i^eiancholy. 


POEMS. 


115 


But  as  for  me  tlirough  woods  of  waking 
green, 

With  her  to  roam,  alas,  I may  no  more; 

As  ere  this  sorry  hour — which  should 
have  been — 

That  bids  me  tlms  to  suffer  long  and  sore; 

Yet  wisdom  whispers,  folly  to  refrain, 

’Tis  noble,  still  to  bear  and  not  com- 
plain.” 


A FATHER^S  PROTEST. 


T. 

Yon  castle’s  walls  are  chill  and  lonely, 
Though  crowned  with  every  art : 

And  their  frowning  lord  is  old  and  stony 
Is  his  polished  heart. 


II. 

Tliere  grace  and  rank  and  wealth’s  display, 
Thou  freely  may’st  partake  ; 

But  these  humble  joys,  when  fled  away. 

Will  make  thy  poor  heart  break. 

HI. 

And  to  see  my  blossom  bent  and  torn, 

And  weeping  bitter  dew  ; 

With  a cruel  world  to  pass  in  scorn, 

Will  make  my  heart  break,  too. 


116 


POEMS. 


THOU  LITTLE  BIRD  ON  YONDER  TREE. 

I. 

Thou  little  bird  on  yonder  tree, 

That  tells  thy  tale  so  piteously, 

Has  sorrow's  arrow  pierced  thee 
Or  grief,  thy  little  bosom  ? 

II. 

Has  death  thy  little  birdies  pressed. 

That  nestled  neath  thy  pitying  breast  ? 

Or  some  mean  villain  robbed  tliy  nest 
Of  its  wee  blossom  ? 

III. 

Or  was  thy  little  mate  unkind; 

And  thou  cant'st  no  sweet  pity  find, 

That  thus  thou  tells  thy  sorrowing  mind 
So  piteously  ? 

IV. 

O,  tune,  for  me,  thy  sweeter  lay. 

Of  budding  joys  and  opening  day  ; 

With  grief  and  sorrow  far  away, 

So  soothingly. 

V. 

Earth  has  ’nough  sorrows  of  its  own. 

With  piteous  sighs,  to  weep  and  moan 
Troubles  in  throngs  and  grief  alone, 

Plods  on  in  tears. 


POEMS. 


117 


VI. 

Earth  were  a dreary  lot  and  waste, 

If  Heav’n  with  all  her  glories  pressed, 
Spared  not  thy  sweeter  lay,  to  bless 
And  charm  our  cares. 


QUEEN  OF  THE  LILIES. 

I. 

Queen  of  tlie  garden,  lily  of  girls. 

Come  out  for  your  lover  is  sighing  ; 

And  smile  on  his  grief,  with  your  shining 
curls, 

Ere  the  spark  in  his  bosom  is  dying. 

II. 

<3ome  out  from  the  dancing  and  out  from  the 
light. 

Come  out  to  your  seat  in  the  garden  ; 

For  his  aching  bosom  is  brooding  the  night, 
And  sighing  and  sighing  for  pardon. 

HI. 

Queen  of  the  lilies,  garland  of  girls, 

O,  haste  to  j^our  lonely  lover ; 

And  smile  on  his  grief  with  your  shining 
curls. 

Ere  he  leaves  you  to  weep  forever. 


IIB 


POEMS. 


A NIGHT  IN  JUNE, 

The  moon,  her  golden  horn  in  crescent  set, 
Now  rests  upon  the  margin  of  the  wood, 
And  the  soft  wind  steals  by  in  silent  mood, 

Beneath  the  stars  that,  mid  the  dewy  wet, 

Trip  o’er  the  milky  path,  or  brightly  set 
Their  jeweled  faces  on  Heav’ns  concave  old ; 
That  his  broad  roof  leaks  drops  of  glitter* 
ing  gold  ; 

Or  seem  the  angels  round  their  portals 
flitting. 

O,  sweet,  the  scene,  while  earth’s  thus 
kindly  lighted, 

And  gentle  lovers  rove  by  hill  and  stream; 
Earth  seems  not  half  so  sad,  with  sin  be* 
flighted ; 

Now  sin  and  sorrow  pass,  as  in  a dream, 

And  Heav’fl  indulgent-half  beholds  the 
shame, 

And  fires  the  soul  vvdth  her  eternal  flame. 


I'OKMS. 


il® 


JUST  OVER  THE  WEST. 

I. 

Just  over  the  West, 

Lives  the  lad  I love  best ; 

And  the  lad  tliat  loves  me  dearly,  O.. 
And  his  heart  is  as  true. 

As  the  heavens  are  blue, 

Or  the  stars  that  twinkle  so  clearly,  O.. 

II. 

With  a fond  caress. 

On  liis  gentle  breast, 

And  a pledge  drawn  full  sincerly, 

He  promised  me. 

That  my  home  would  be, 

Out  in  the  West  full  early,  O. 

III. 

There  meadows  grow. 

Where  the  brooklets  flow, 

And  the  flo wVs  in  the  grass  peep  cheery,, 
And  the  woodland  rings, 

Where  the  wild  bird  sings. 

And  the  days  are  never  dreary,  O^ 

IV. 

There  his  herd  slowly  feeds, 

On  the  odorous  meads, 

As  the  moon  glides  by  so  fleet,  0 ? 

And  the  soft  wind  blows, 

Where  the  wild  stream  flows, 

And  the  nights  are,  aye,  so  sweet,  O*^ 


120 


POEMS. 


LOVERS  LAMENT, 

1. 

O’er  vale  and  hill,  and  heather  still, 
Now  flits  the  sun  and  shadow  ; 

With  a heart  sore  wrung, 

For  a joy  long  gone, 

This  aching  breast  is  sad,  O. 

II. 

O,  for  again  to  meet,  and  rapture  sweet 
Embrace  each  ravished  bosom ! 

But  fell’s  the  blow  that  laid  so  low, 

My  sweet  and  tender  blossom. 

III. 

O,  Death  ! O,  Woe ! where  may  I go. 
Tracing  with  cheerless  measure. 

To  find  some  fold,  where  thou  so  bold. 
Hast  not  la’en  the  sweetest  treasure  ? 


THE  ANGRY  GALE,’ 


I. 

The  angry  gale  now  sweeps  the  vale. 
Complaining  and  resistless  ; 

My  heart  again,  her  joys,  in  vain, 
Now  seeks  but,  O,  so  restless. 


POEMS. 


121 


TI. 

O,  aching  soul,  whose  ceaseless  roll 
Discovers  naught  but  anguish; 

Here,  rest  the  while  and  care  beguile, 

And  cease,  thou  heart,  to  languish. 

III. 

The  rich  and  proud  may  seek  the  crowd, 

Yet  seek,  in  vain,  for  pleasure ; 

A contented  mind  is  as  rare  to  hnd, 

I wean,  as  any  treasure, 

IV. 

For  believe  me,  joy  is  ever  coy 
And  flees  when  we  pursue  her  ; 

And  the  man  she  blesses,  with  her  fond, 
caresses, 

He  never  seeks  to  view  her. 


' During  my  early  struggles  and  wandering,  I had  ofter& 
witnessed,  with  much  pleasure  and  regret,  the  peace  and: 
quiet  of  a simple  rural  home  ; the  wholesome  condition  oi 
which  I had  frequently  contrasted  with  my  own  restless- 
one.  Of  which,  the  result  is  the  above  sentiment. 


122 


POEMS. 


ONES  ON  AN  OLD  DESERTED  SCHOOL 
HOUSE. 

-Farewell,  old  home  of  memories  to  the  heart. 
Bound  fast  and  dear,  that  never  can  depart ; 
Sweet  healing  influence  of  those  blissful 
hours, 

When  gentle  love  distilled  her  lavish, 
showers. 

Farewell,  mild  mother  of  fair  industry. 

In  low  complaint,  my  heart  still  turns  to  thee ; 
To  thee,  when  simple  happiness  reclined. 
Beneath  thy  mandate  and  thy  mantle  kind. 
When  sweet  content,  within  thy  rustic  bower, 
Usurped  all  care  and  blessed  the  happy  hour; 
When  hardy  sports  thy  children  strong  im- 
pelled. 

The  foremost  prize,  their  noisy  cry  was  held; 
But  now  the  sports  that  once  bedecked  thy 
green. 

No  more,  beneath  the  lonely  shades  are  seen. 
The  mindful  master  now  no  longer  hears 
The  busy  murmur,  swallowed  up  in  tears. 
Like  patches  of  snow,  on  some  bare  moun- 
tain spread. 

The  foam  of  time  had  settled  on  his  head. 
His  smiles,  no  more,  upon  their  merits  shine, 
Nor  looks  reprove  the  ill-behaving  line. 

His  rule  no  longer  on  their  mischief  plays, 


POEMS. 


123 


Pond  memories  of  thy  sweet  and  happy 
days. 

No  more  at  morn,  with  mild  and  reverend 
mien, 

The  gentle  master  at  his  desk  is  seen  ; 

With  open  book,  and  venerable  gaze, 

Explaining  God's  high  works  and  wond'rous 
ways. 

How  Daniel,  in  a den  of  lions  slept ; 

Or  the  seven  plagues  o’er  stricken  Egypt 
swept. 

How  through  the  sea,  his  chosen  tribes  he 
led 

And  manna,  dropped  from  Heav’n,  his  people 
fed. 

Or  Moses  on  the  Mount  of  Sina's  range. 

Beheld  the  burning  and  the  visage  strange. 

As  through  its  clay,  his  eager  soul  devine 

In  pleading  earnestness  did  yearning  shine; 

How  once,  the  loving  Savior  died  to  save 

The  kind,  the  coward,  the  severe,  the  brave. 

Or  how  Elijah,  earth^s  long-honored  sire, 

Swept  Heaven’s  vault  in  chariots  of  fire  ; 

His  noble  soul,  with  these  high  themes  in- 
spired, 

Exultant  to  its  native  realms  retired ; 

And  mid-way  flung  his  mantle  o’er  his  kin. 

Happy  to  wrap  some  thoughtless  wanderer  in. 

Hb  aged  voice  did  full  of  earnest  ring, 


124 


P0BM8. 


As  some  Zion  sonnet  he  would  ever  sing. 
Then  low  in  chorus,  all  rejoined  in  prayer  ; 
O,  sweet ! the  scene,  to  listless  memory  deaiv 
Alas ! no  more,  return  those  happy  days, 

In  painful  cities’  unfamiliar  ways. 

Of  scenes,  like  these,  sad  memories  arise  ; 
Their  mournful  music  swells  and  sader  dies,. 
The  master  now  in  foreign  climes  must  roam. 
Far  from  his  children  and  deserted  home. 
Mild  was  the  murmur  when  at  the  long 
day’s  close. 

The  ready  noise  of  ill-used  bdoks  uprose, 
Thrown  careless  in  the  old  rough  desks  de- 
faced, 

By  nature’s  youthful  artists  rudely  traced. 
No  more,  tlie  merry  buzz  of  lips  shall  bloom. 
Nor  stiffled  laughter  titters  round  the  room. 
No  more,  the  indignant  master’s  voice  m 
heard  ; 

The  busy  murmur  is  no  longer  stirred. 
Within  these  hoary  walls  the  master’s  rule 
In  frolic  oft  has  played  on  me,  old  school  ; 
^ut  crushed  amid  thy  ruins  now  it  lies, 
Unheard,  unheaded,  ne’er  obeyed  to  rise  ; 
No  more,  its  stinging  eloquence  shall  give 
The  mild  offender  better  aims  to  live. 

Nor  more,  within  thy  portals  open  flung, 

In  pressing  chorus,  throng  thy  happy  youngs 
As  some  bold  chief,  with  laurels  bravely  won^ 


POEMS. 


125 


Bears  his  soiled  piaines  so  proudly  to  the 
sun, 

Thy  battered  turret  once  did’st  lordly  raise, 
O’er  many  a poor  yet  proud  admirer’s  gaze  i 
But  now  deserted  and  tliy  honors  gone, 

The  S})oiler  heaps  thy  beauty  o’er  the  lawn. 
Now  ruin  carves  her  image  in  deca}^, 

And  all  thy  happy  ciiarms  have  fled  away ; 
All  but  the  charms  that  chase  in  memory’s 
train 

Aiid  over-taking,  turn  the  past  to  pain. 

Too  soon,  this  wretched  yet  this  sacred  spot, 
That  once  so  sweetly  smiled,  shall  know  thee 
not. 

Beneath  the  elms  where  in  reposeful  shade. 
Thy  kindred  rested,  and  thy  honor  stayed ; 
Now  mean  dishonor  marks  thy  resting  place, 
And  desolation  dost  thy  form  embrace. 
Where  once,  the  happy  voice  of  laughter 
played, 

Somber  and  still,  repose  thy  mournful  glade ; 
The  oriole  resigns  his  warblings  mild. 

To  the  lone  owl  that  mopes  with  screeches 
wild. 

And  all  around  upon  thy  dismal  green. 
Where  game  and  gambol  once  bedecked  the 
scene, 

Disconsolate,  within  thy  lonely  bower, 

Thy  ruins  waste  reveal  the  tyrant’s  power* 


126 


POEMS. 


Soon  empty  grandeur  holds  thy  modest 
place, 

All  sad  deception  of  thy  kindly  grace  ; 

O,  heartless  pomp,  O,  all  unfeeling  pride, 

Still,  still  for  thee,  we  lay  life's  little  sweet 
aside, 

Ohange  and  decay  usurp  thy  blissful  place, 

The  tyrant's  grasp  thy  simple  charms  deface  ^ 

Thy  cold  remains  confess  the  spoiler's  hand,. 

Shame  and  dishoner  linger  o'er  the  land. 

The  spot,  where  once  in  honored  state  thou 
rose, 

In  sloth  and  indolence  doth  now  repose  ; 

The  loveliness  that  once  adorned  thy  door. 

To  thy  lone  children  shall  be  known  no 
more. 

Sad  ! sad ! the  sight  that  meets  their  languid 
eyes. 

Where  on  the  green,  thy  shapeless  ruins  rise.. 

Beneath  the  towering  elm-tree’s  spreading: 
shade. 

In  sweet  content  thy  happy  children 
played. 

Now,  helpless  grown  and  indigent  with 
years. 

Thy  beauty  faded  with  maternal  years, 

Like  some  lone  outcast,  thou  art  left  to  die,. 

Endure  their  charity  who  pass  you  by ; 

Or  brook  the  hard  hand  of  the  tyrant’s  power. 


POEMS. 


12T 


In  this,  thy  helpless  and  degenerate  hour. 
Thy  beauty  round  in  rude  confusion  lay, 

The  funereal  fragments  of  that  blissful  day.. 
Sad  ! sad  ! my  eyes  behold  the  dismal  scene^ 
Where  dust  and  ashes  only  intervene. 

And,  O,  to  satisfy  man’s  paltry  pride. 

The  passions  of  the  heart  are  laid  aside. 
Grief  claims  my  heart  and  pain  requires  my 
soul. 

While  thus,  I see  thy  helpless  form  unroll* 
No  more,  these  wandering  feet  shall  ere 
return. 

To  scenes  so  dear  that  can  no  longer  burn^^ 
A fond  farewell;  and  yet  where  ere  I stray^ 
Sweet  memories  of  thee  will  cling  for  aye.. 
Now  rests  thy  honored  embers  in  the  dust  ; 
Thy  end,  attained  and  well-performed,  thw 
trust. 

Hence,  thou  shalt  live  in  dreams,  if  live  at, 
all  ; 

Vanished  from  view  and  from  thy  children^a 
call. 

O ! tranquil  be  thy  rest,  thy  sleep  serene. 
While  memory  still  marks  the  gentle  scene,. 


128 


POEMS 


DEAR  LITTLE  LAMP. 

Dear  little  lamp  so  trim  and  bright 
That  glimmers  so  sweetly  thy  soft  beaming 
light, 

And  royally  feasts  1113^  poor  ravished  sight 
On  all  sorts  of  dainties  so  pure  and  so  white; 
Torch  of  fair  Wisdom  that  points  to  the 
right, 

Like  the  beacon  that  guides  through  the 
dark  gathering  night. 

Dear  little  lamp  by  whose  soft  beaming  light, 
Tis  so  quiet  to  read  and  so  pleasant  to  write, 
Dear  little  lamp  so  trim  and  bright. 

Pictures  I’ve  seen  and  stories  read 
Of  deluded  swains  afar  that  were  led 
By  will-o-the-wisp  or  wild-fire  dread  ; 

And  down  in  their  caverns  of  glimmering  red 
The  gray  old  witches  their  sorceries  said. 
But  none  of  their  spells  in  the  heart  ever 
bred 

A faith  in  the  living  or  love  for  the  dead  ; 
And  none  of  them  hath  the  sweet  charm  to 
spread 

Hope  in  the  heart  and  a calm  in  head, 

Like  the  dear  little  lamp  that  so  sweetly  has 
fed 

My  mind  with  the  pictures  and  stories  I’ve 
read. 


POEMS. 


129 


DO  YOU  ASK  ME. 

Do  you  ask  me  why  I say, 

Heav'n  were  drear  with  thee  away  ; ” 
Must  I still  assert  for  aye 
O,  Jessie,  that  I love  you  ? 

Were  I a bird  and  thou  a rose, 

How  I would  sing  in  love's  repose 
From  earliest  dawn  to  evening's  close ! 
Could  songs  to  pity  move  you. 

But  thou  art  human  and  confine 
My  notes  to  themes  far  less  sublime, 

Nor  let'st  me  strike  one  chord  of  thine, 
Though  far  deviner. 

Inly  I seek  with  notes  of  grief 
From  love’s  treasure-house  to  draw  relief, 
Or  on  thy  lips  to  play  the  thief 
Nor  feel  myself,  a sinner. 

Yet  in  my  heart  Pll  sing  of  thee, 

Sweet  nymph  of  mirth  and  jollity, 

That  filPst  my  soul  with  thoughts  so  free 
Of  joy  and  pleasure. 

But  did  poet  ere  sing  the  whole  he  knew; 
Or  the  woodlark,  half  his  ditty  through  ? 
Nor  can  this  heart,  its  love  for  you 
In  full  round  measure. 


130 


POEMS. 


O,  CRUEL  SEA. 


I. 

I stand  on  the  shore  as  the  ships  roll  by, 
And  list  to  the  roar  and  the  sea-gull’s  cry  ; 
And  watch  the  waves  break,  break  in  vain 
On  the  great  dark  rocks  again  and  again, 
And  seemingly  forever. 

II. 

I stand  on  the  shore  and  gaze  o’er  the  foam. 
The  restless  tide  and  the  sailor’s  home  ; 

The  sailor’s  home  and  the  grave,  I fear, 

Of  many  a hope  and  loved  one  dear 
That  more  return  shall  never. 

III. 

O,  sea  of  love,  O,  sea  of  life, 

O,  sea  of  calm  and  restless  strife, 

How  fondly  dreams  the  heart  of  thee, 

O,  sea  of  Death  and  m3^stery, 

Whose  hopes  thou  long  hast  severed 


LOVE’S  SACRIFICE. 

I. 

Thou  ne’er  hast  walked  life’s  dreary  way, 
Nor  trod  the  path  alone; 

Where  thorns  and  briars  thick  array. 

O’er  drifting  sand  and  stone. 


POEMS. 


131 


II. 

But  mid  the  flow’ry  realms  of  love, 
Where  only  grace  reposes  ; 

And  gentle  show’rs,  amid  their  bow’rs, 
Awake  the  sleeping  roses. 

III. 

And  would’st  thou  all  thy  joys  forsake, 
To  share  my  lot  of  anguish  ? 

Nay,  rather,  let  this  poor  heart  break, 
Than  ever  thou  should’st  languish. 


THE  CHRIST-HEART. 

Earth  heaps  its  urn,  with  sorrows  of  its  own  ; 
Heav’n  holds  her  healing  balm  at  faith’s 
arm’s  length, 

For  somber  insults  in  pity  to  atone 
A fallen  race,  endowed  with  nobler  strength, 
T’  attain  its  native  heights  and  grateful  own 
The  care  that  led  their  happ}^  steps,  at  length. 
Our  groans,  our  sighs  sink  deep  as  we  make 
them ; 

In  pitchy  dark,  alone,  we  grope  along ; 
Yearn  for  the  light,  to  mingle  in  its  throng. 
And  feel  the  leaping  pulses  of  a world  un- 
known. 

Yet  morning  breaks,  its  beauties,  fain  to 
wake  them. 


132 


POEMS. 


We  stand  enchanted  by  its  song. 

And  still  are  loath  to  take  them; 

And  come  what  will,  some  few  will  still  for- 
sake them ; 

Who  ask  they  know  not  what  and  still  com- 
plain, 

When  good  is  wrought  and  evil  is  denied. 

The  spotless  robe  is  soiled  with  bloody  stain; 

Again,  the  lowly  Lord  is  crucified. 

Yet  hands  that  were  foul  in  the  wounds  of 
the  cruel  nails. 

Are  washed  and  cleansed  by  that  self-same 
gore; 

Infinite  love  in  harmony  prevails 

O’er  the  soul  that  raved  in  blinding  night 
before. 

Touched  by  the  hand  that’s  softer  than  the 
dew 

Of  crystal  gems,  on  rarest  flow’ry  hue, 

The  eager  soul  in  stately  stature  stands  ; 

Out-stretches  wide  its  answering  hungry 
hands; 

Feels  the  new  life,  new  light,  new  happy  all 

Steal  through  his  being  and  leap  its  prison 
wall ; 

Light,  at  the  touch,  in  all  its  glories  shine. 

And  all  the  world  within  is  rapturous 
devine. 


POEMS. 


133 


ON  YONDER  HILL. 

I. 

By  yon  flow’ry  hill,  where  all  is  still, 

And  the  daisies  spread  their  cover  ; 
Through  field  and  grove,  I love  to  rove, 

And  muse  on  my  true  lover. 

II. 

Though  far  away  yet  niglit  and  day, 

I'm  ever  with  him  straying  ; 

Nor  time  nor  place  nor  ocean’s  space 
Can  ere  our  loves  betraying. 

III. 

For  day  and  night  my  prayers  take  flight 
To  Heav’nto  still  watch  o’er  him  ; 

Back  to  these  arms  from  the  war’s  alarms 
In  safty  to  restore  him. 

rv. 

For  o’er  the  wild  wave,  my  hero  brave 
Is  fighting  for  his  nation, 

And  fear  nor  foe,  nor  threat  nor  blow 
Can  drive  him  from  his  station. 

V. 

But  soon  he’ll  come,  to  his  love  and  home 
And  joys  will  ever  blossom  ; 

And  the  cruel  dart  that  would  pierce  this 
heart 

He’ll  shield  it  from  my  bosom. 


134 


POEMS, 


THOU  LITTLE  BROOK* 

T. 

Thou  little  brook  tliat  babbles  ou, 

Nor  ever  stops  to  tarr^^, 

O,  tell  me  where  my  love  has  flown  ; 

And  have  ye  seen  my  Carrie  ? 

TI. 

Beneath  the  moonbeams’  gentle  ray, 

Adown  the  distant  heather; 

Or  ’long  the  old  familiar  way, 

We  oft,  have  roved  together. 

HI. 

Or  crossed  the  sands  that  girt  the  stream  ; 

Or  watched  the  minnows  wander  ; 

But  O,  those  days  are  all  a-dream — 

Alone,  I sit  and  ponder. 

IV. 

And  now  wherere  these  feet  may  roam, 

With  wandering  ever  weary, 

I look  in  vain,  I weep  alone, 

In  absence  of  my  dearie. 

V, 

Ye  pitying  powers  in  Heav’n  above, 

That  weep  when  mortals  languish. 

Bind  up  this  broken  heart  of  love  ; 

This  aching  grief  and  anguish. 


POEMS. 


135 


DISCON  TENT. 

I. 

“ How  pleaf^ant  tlie  life  of  a bird  Doustbe/^ 
We  say  and  sigli  for  our  portion  ; 

But  if  we  bad  to  work  for  a meal,  as  he, 
We'd  sigli,  with  a different  notion. 

II. 

To  rise  with  tlie  earliest  peep  of  day, 

And  sing  o'er  a world  of  troubles  ; 

And  if  we  did’nt  get  out  and  scratch  away. 
Could  live  on  the  fame  of  our  bubbles. 

III. 

And  how  many  are  they  that  fret  away 
Without  a heart  to  ]>ity  ; 

With  their  hopes  crushed  in  the  thong  and 
hurried  on, 

In  the  great  and  crowded  city. 


THE  MONTH  IS  MAY. 

I. 

The  month  is  May,  the  fields  are  gay, 
With  warblings  sweet  and  many,  O; 
Yet  nature's  treat  was  ne'er  so  sweet. 
As  a passing  glance  of  Jennie,  O. 

II. 

I pulled  a rose  from  off  its  thorn. 

To  deck  her  bonny  bosom,  O ; 

But,  O,  her  eyes  and  sweet  surprise  ! 
They  shamed  that  silly  blossom  O. 


136 


POEMS, 


III. 

Then  what  matters  if  the  nights  come  on, 
And  the  days,  with  clouds,  are  dreary,  O ? 
While  my  love  is  kind  I ne’er  can  find 
A thought,  but ’s  sweet  and  cheery,  O. 


LOVERS  DESPAIR. 

Jean,  with  eyes  of  opening  day, 

Spare  this  heart  their  conquering  sway  ; 

O,  remove  those  tempting  lips. 

Sweet  as  roses’  blushing  tips  ; 

Who  so  late  has  given  vovv 
To  love  anotiier,  never  now! 

Take  away  those  lips  forsworn. 

Ere  I die  of  love  forlorn. 

Tempt  me  not  to  taste  the  pleasure  ; 

Lovers  know  not  end  nor  measure. 

They  were  made  to  bless  another. 

Spare  this  heart  witli  grief  to  cover  ; 

Spare  thee  still,  my  heart  to  languish, 

Lest  my  love  should  die  of  anguish. 

Had  we  never  met  to  sever. 

Sweet,  were  life  to  live  forever. 

Now  death  were  sweet  and  hell  were  cheery 
Beside  this  breast  so  lone  and  dreary; 
Heart-wrung  joys  and  moans  sore  grieve  me, 
Only,  love,  that  I must  leave  thee. 

Fare  thee  well,  alas,  forever  1 


POEMS. 


im 

(r 

Meetings  bind  us  but  to  sever; 

Dark’s  the  world,  my  path  how  lonely  I 
Tet  ’twere  bright  if  only — only — 

It  were  vain  to  mock  with  telling  ; 

All  too  deep  this  sad  breast’s  swelling. 

Now,  farewell,  I swear,  but  never 
Can  this  heart  ere  love  another. 

Lonely  grief  iny  breast  is  thronging,, 

Fears  and  unrequited  longing. 

Yet  I know,  our  love’s  not  wasted ; 

Love  so  true  was  ne’er  misplaced. 

Yet  if  we  had  never  parted, 

I had  ne*er  been  broken-liearted. 


YE  SOULLESS  GODS, 

I. 

Ye  soulless  gods,  that  strut  and  stare 
And  sneer  at  us  poor  mortals, 

We  only  ask  you  what  is  fair  ; 

We’ll  guard  our  own  mean  portals, 

II. 

Time’s  cycling  wheel  shall  soon  turn  roun# 
When  Fortune  may  forecast,  O, 

And  we  poor  spokes,  tliat  bite  the  groun^,^ 
JShall  reach  the  top  at  last,  O. 


138 


POEMS. 


HA^E  YE  MY  SWEET  NANNIE  SEEN/ 

i. 

Ha’e  ye  my  sweet  Nannie  seen  ? 

Ha’e  ye  seen  her,  ha'e  ye  seen  her  ? 

Ane  wee  glance  wad  set  ye  keen 
On't  to  win  lier,  on ’t  to  win  her. 

II. 

For  Nannie 's  3^oung  and  Nannie ’s  fair 
And  Nannie  has  a queenly  air, 

And  eyes  wad  set  ye  wheeling,  O; 

My  heart,  Pve  put  in  trust  wi*  hers. 
And  all  its  throes  and  aches  she  cures ; 
And  aye,  wi’  joy.  I’m  reeling,  O. 

III. 

Could  ere  a lass  so  faithful  prove. 

To  bless  a heart  so,  bless  a heart  so ; 
Could  Heav’n  an  equal  transport  move 
Or  joy  impart  so,  joy  impart  so  ; 

IV. 

Then  Heav’n  were  fair,  indeed,  and  sweet. 
Then  lleav’n  were  all  our  fancies  mete, 
And  Heav’n  were  love  itself  replete  ; 

But  Heav’n  were  no  more  than  it. 


' For  these  few  meager  words  borrowed  from  the  Scotish 
dialect,  I suppose  an  apology  is  forthcoming  to  those  who 
are  not  aware  of  the  natural  aptitude  of  that  language  to 
"music.  But  the  rather,  it  has  been  instead  a source  of  much 
regret  to  me  that  1 did  not  have  the  courage  to  use  it  more. 


POEMS. 


139 


Cs 


V. 

But  cease,  thou  love-provoking  lass, 

To  tempt  my  heart  beyond  repast, 

For  if  Heav’n  were  love  and  long  should 
last, 

In  Heav’n,  I ne’er  could  stan’  it 

YE  LITTLE  STARS* 

I. 

Ye  little  stars  that  coldly  shine, 

0,^how  ye  mock  this  soul  of  mine. 

This  heart  so  frail  and  human  ; 

This  little  pause  of  joys  and  fears. 

This  breath  of  sorrow  and  of  tears 
And  woes,  so  justly  due  man. 

Silent  and  calm  ye  swing 
Ages  beneath  your  wing 
No  question  justice  ; 

Serving  the  common  plan 
Of  Father  God  and  man 
Though  we  oft  condemn  it. 

In  all  the  ages  ye  have  rolled 
What  varied  scenes  ye  must  behold 
Upon  this  little  planet. 

Our  best  laid  schemes  though  ne’er  so  small. 
Ne’er  see  their  finish  all  in  all 
No  matter  how  we  plan  it. 


140 


POEMS.^ 


II. 

And  in  tliiy  world  of  show  and  seeing, 

How  few  are  good  for  love  of  the  beings 
How  many  ’cause  they  dare  not  be  other- 
wise ! 

For  the  show  is  so  enhancing 
And  the  seeing  so  entrancing, 

Like  moths,  we  flit  to  where  the  danger 
lies. 

And  so  sweet  is  the  deceiving, 

But  alas — the  stern  retrieving  ! 

Oh,  there’s  the  fire  that  all  our  virtue  tries^ 

And  that  tender  little  blossom. 

Within  this  human  bosom, 

Ere  we  know  it,  withers  with  the  heat  and 
dies, 

III. 

O,  this  idle,  idle  dreaming, 

And  this  sad  deceptive  seeming 

That  robs  the  soul  of  what  it  prizes  most! 

And  this  dark  and  sad  devining 
And  this  drear  and  ill-repining 

Of  broken  hopes  and  vanished  pleasures 
lost ! 

Yet  if  the  soul  were  more  in  earnest 
Of  the  purer  food  it  yearneth. 

To  lift  itself  above  the  common  host;. 


POEMS. 


141 


(i 


Then  earth  were  sweeter  than  it  seemeth, 
And  Heav’n  were  nearer  than  we  dreameth, 
In  spite  the  smiling  comics’  cruel  boast. 


SING  ON  THOU^S  HEARDJ 

I. 

Sing  on,  thou’s  heard,  thou  little  bird, 
Thou  art  so  blithe  and  merry, 

From  the  jostling  throng,  that  hurries  on, 
A moment  will  I tarry. 

II. 

Thou  hurts  my  breast,  thou  bonny  thrush, 
Thy  joy  overflows  with  singing; 

But  seething  woe,  with  careless  throe, 

This  aching  heart  is  wringing. 

III. 

For  o’er  her  grave,  the  willows  wave  ; 

Her  grave,  that  was  my  Carrie, 

And  if  this  breast  soon  finds  no  rest, 
Forever  will  I tarry. 


’ Near  the  scene  of  a burial,  under  operation,  a little 
thrush  chanced  to  alight  on  a grave  stone,  near  which  I 
was  sitting,  and  poured  forth  such  pitiously  sweet  music,  as 
to  deepen  the  passion  of  the  above  verses  far  beyond  intel- 
lectual recognition.  This,  together  with  the  scene,  I wit- 
nessed, so  solicitous  of  sympathy  and  pity,  and  a tremor  of 
tender  memories  so  wrought  upon  me  that  I broke  down  ut- 
terly in  a flood  of  grief  and  tears. 


142 


POEMS. 


ELEGY* 

Thou  pale  and  silent  kingdom  of  the  dead, 
Within  thy  sacred  precincts  and  thy  power 

Here  may  I bow  a reverential  head, 

With  Heav’n  and  thee,  to  spend  a hallowed 
hour. 

With  Heav’n  and  thee ; for  what  holds 
Heav’n  more  dear, 

Than  this,  thy  ancient  solitary  place? 

Where  in  their  mouldering  ruins  now  appear. 
The  crumbling  shrines  of  an  eternal  race. 

Here  may  I rest,  here  muse  all  undisturbed. 
Beneath  the  solemn  stillness  of  thy  shade  ; 

Save  that  mid-summer’s  songster’s  voice  is 
heard ; 

Tlie  falling  stroke  of  yonder  sexton's 
spade. 

Save  where  yon  brooklet  murmers  to  the 
wind 

That  heaves  a low  and  melancholy  sigh  ; 

Or  that  yon  lover  with  distracted  mind. 
Weeps  o'er  some  grave  and  turns  away 
to  die. 

Within  these  walls,  that  liold  the  silent  dead,. 
Full  many  a heart,  that  care  hath  sorely 
pressed ; 


POEMS. 


14a 


Feet  that  no  more  this  mortal  path  shall 
tread 

Have  laid  them  down  to  their  eternal  rest*. 

Here  Death  hath  struck  full  many  a fatal 
dart  ; 

The  reverend  sire  his  last  farewell  hatlr 
said  ; 

And  many  a tlow’r  of  some  fond  mother’s 
heart 

Now  blossoms  in  the  kingdom  of  the  dead^ 

Here  many  a saint  thus  far  his  race  hath  run;. 

Here  laid  him  to  his  long-expected  rest; 

Here  waits  the  rising  of  another  sun  ; 

A brighter  world  of  peace  and  quiet  blest. 

Here  many  an  unknown  hero’s  found  repose^ 

After  the  weary  toils  of  battle  o’er; 

Here  Death  has  brought  to  an  untimely 
close 

Full  many  a book  of  care  and  trouble 
sore. 

Yet  for  the  few  how  smooth,  the  years  have 
fled, 

In  sweet  domestic  | eace  and  happy  sway  I 

No  star  of  gloiy  her  false  luster  shed ; 

Nor  honor,  pride  to  vice  allured  away. 


144 


POEMS. 


S^re  rests  tlie  soul  in  its  embodied  clay, 
'Guarded,  we  feel,  by  Heaven’s  attendant 
power  ; 

Does  soul  with  soul  here  intercouse  convey. 
Or  in  oblivion,  wait  the  appointed  hour  ? 

Some  emblem  of  that  fondly  wished-for  rest, 
By  loving  hands  upon  the  grave  is  spread ; 
'To  point  the  mourner  to  that  kingdom  blest, 
Where  never  grief  intrudes  with  heartless 
tread. 

For  th’  many  here  no  more  life’s  feast  shall 
spread  ; 

The  ceaseless  train  of  care  nor  longer  roll; 
Fast  in  the  silent  recess  of  the  dead. 

And  the  eternal  kingdom  of  the  soul. 

Here  rest  together  in  a common  place. 

The  fool  too  oft  in  error’s  path  that  trod  ; 
And  feet  that  loved  the  Heavenly  way  to 
grace, 

That  led  unto  their  Father  and  their  God. 

Is  there  a soul  so  lost  to  faith  and  love. 
That  as  he  lays  some  darling  in  the  grave, 
With  no  fond  longing  hopes  to  meet  above  ; 
Nor  feels  the  power  from  death  and  sin 
to  save  ? 


POEMS. 


146 


There  is  a power,  wliose  soul-asserting  love 
Touches  the  heart  with  that  eternal  flame  ; 
Teaches  the  soul  its  excelence  to  prove  ; 
And  feel  the  kinship  in  a Father’s  name. 

Upon  the  brow  of  care,  the  aching  breast, 
Some  gentle  hand  is  laid  with  loving  care; 
And  at  His  touch  the  soul  receives  new  rest. 
And  loves  to  linger  in  the  arms  of  prayer. 

Why  from  that  Heavenly  star,  whose  guid- 
ing ray 

Leads  safe  across  this  restless  flood  of 
strife, 

Should  we,  with  moorings  lost,  still  choose 
to  stray — 

Lost  pilots  on  the  trackless  sea  of  life  ? 

And  here  above  this  solitary  vale, 

How  towers  old  Time,  proud  monarch  of 
the  field  ; 

For  ages  nourished,  tempest  toiled  and  hale; 
For  angels,  pastime,  and  to  man,  a shield. 

And  yet  beneath  this  mighty  tree  of  life, 
How  many  leaves  have  fallen  into  sear ! 
Whole  branches  that  have  yielded  to  the 
strife. 

Leave  but  faint  traces  of  existance  here. 


146 


POEMS. 


Back  to  her  bosom,  mother  of  us  all, 

Earth  draws  her  weeping  children  with  a 
kiss  ; 

And  on  our  cares  her  pitying  hand  lets 
fall  ; 

And  bears  the  laboring  bosom  to  its  rest. 

Too  oft,  in  vain,  we  wipe  the  falling  tear ; 

Too  often,  mourn  for  earthly  concord 
riv’n. 

Tis  better  far  for  some  they  are  not  here — 

-From  sorrow’s  pall,  to  sweet  repose  of 
Heav’n. 

Here,  in  this  rude  and  ill-neglected  isle — 

Lone  avenue  of  the  poor  and  nameless 
dead — 

Where  vaunting  pride  ignores  a human 
smile, 

Sweet  nature’s  artless  gifts  around  are 
spread. 

Is  this  the  place  to  sigh  or  shed  the  tear ; 

To  mourn  a friend  that  quits  the  scene  of 
strife  ; 

Or  this,  the  place  to  calm  the  anxious 
fear, 

For  those  wbo’ve  anchored  in  the  vale  of 
life  ? 


POEMS. 


147 


And  yet,  for  those  of  whom  no  Heavenly 
thought 

Of  ^weet  hereafter,  soothes  the  troubled 
breast, 

The  heaving  sigh  and  tear  is  timely  wrought 
Alas  ! who  hope  not  that  eternal  rest. 

Earth  has  no  night,  this  spirit  to  subdue, 

So  furrowed  o’er  with  sorrow  or  with  grief? 

But  Heaven's  smiling  angel  presses  through ; 
And  on  the  wings  of  mercy  flies  relief. 

Yet  ’neath  this  mortal  night  the  star  of 
hope, 

Too  often,  shines  but  to  make  visible 

Tiie  brooding  darkness  where  we  blindly 
grope  ; 

And  feel  the  present  state  more  miserable. 

By  yon  proud  shaft  that  rears  its  awful  head, 
In  grand  repose  some  honored  ashes  rest; 

What  is  that  voice  that  mocks  pride’s  boast- 
ing spread ; 

On  the  canopy  of  beauty  writes  a jest  ? 

And  who  by  force  of  wisdom  can  forcast 
Or  mete  the  bounds  of  some  small  kind- 
ness done  ? 

The  dew-drop,  by  the  image  that  it  casts, 
Displays  the  hidden  glories  of  the  sun. 


148 


POEMS, 


There  is  in  poverty  that  spreads  a feast, 

An  unseen  temple  rears  of  Heavenly  show; 

There  is  in  vice  that  levels  with  the  beast, 
Makes  life  a jest  and  every  scene  is  woe. 

Along  his  solitary  waste  at  eve, 

Black  Ignorance  wheels  his  slow  and 
dreary  flight ; 

To  darker  shades  where  melancholies  leave 
The  soul  to  grope  through  ghostly  caves 
of  night. 

There  is  a loathing  of  this  mortal  breath  ; 

A longing  for  a brighter  world  than  this; 

There  is  a sweetness  in  repose  of  death, 

That  mocks  our  ecstacy  of  earthly  bliss. 

Full  many  a busli  that  bore  the  Heavenly 
Are, 

Consumed,  doth  pass  away  unheard, 
unseen  ; 

Yet  the  dread  spot  where  the  last  red  coals 
expire. 

Doth  mark  the  palace  where  the  Lord  hath 
been. 


Each  in  his  somber  path  plods  on  alone ; 

His  chosen  way  that  leads  to  his  fancied 
fane  ; 


POEMS. 


mm 


Unmindful  of  its  sweet  and  mellow  tone,. 

Lets  pass  unheard,  the  Heavenl^^ 
frain. 

Upon  this  silent  sea,  grave-billowed  o’^ei^ 
Tne  phantom-ships  of  spirits  come  and  g©^;; 

And  on  the  main,  and  on  the  sounding;^' 
shore. 

Are  strewn  the  shattered  wrecks  of  Bm% 
and  woe. 

And  Death,  that  subtle  enemy  of  all, 

That  steals  upon  us  ere  we  are  aware 

What  force  of  wisdom  save  the  Eternal 
Can  scan  his  scourings  through  the  des- 
sert air  ? 

And  yet  how  sweet,  the  fondly  cherisheil 
thought 

That  lifts  the  soul  above  the  opening; 
tomb  ; 

That  soothes  the  breast  with  peaceful  quist^ 
wrought  ; 

The  solace  of  a bright  eternal  home. 

Back  from  his  field  of  conquest,  blood  asa^ 
pain. 

In  proud  procession  and  with  heartle^v 
tread. 


150 


POEMS. 


Time  leads  his  humbled  captives  in  his  traii)^ 

To  the  pale  and  silent  kingdom  of  the 
dead. 

But  must  we  mourn,  Death  consumates  the 
end  ; 

Nor  list  the  pean  note,  the  spirit  sing  ; 

Her  exultant  triumph  nor  her  peace  at- 
tend, 

That  calms  the  soul  and  plumes  her  ready 
wing  ? 

And  what,  the  fear  to  lay  this  mortal  down 

To  yield  this  brief  and  weary-panting 
breath ; 

When  mid  the  drear  and  darkening  pall 
draws  on, 

The  closing  hour  and  article  of  death  ? 

Does  this  dull  life  determine  what  we  are  ? 

Is  man  the  fool  and  instrument  of  chance, 

To  sweat  and  labor  neath  a load  of  care  ; 

And  at  the  finish  hope  no  recompense  ? 

And  whence,  the  thought  that  soothes  the 
aching  breast  ; 

After  the  toil  of  battle,  gives  repose  ; 

That  arms  witli  valor  many  a soul  oppressed, 

To  quit  the  field  with  a triumphant  close? 


POEMS. 


151 


G 


There  is  a place  of  peace  and  quiet  rest, 
Where  never  care  with  her  incessant 
train, 

Intrudes  to  harass  the  sore  troubled  breast  ; 
But  peaceful  pleasures  do  eternal  reign. 

This  life’s  a scene  of  conflict  and  of  blood 
With  occassional  pause  of  mirth  or  rest 
between  ; 

Death  comes  at  last  and  plays  the  interlude 
To  the  last  act,  and  the  unending  scene. 


FINIS, 


4 


